Iridescent
by BloodyWar2411
Summary: AU; No Magic. Tom Riddle: A mob boss. Draco Malfoy: A vengeful prick. Harry Potter: Stuck as a cleaning boy for Tom's office as a way to make up for something Draco claimed he did. Bottom Line: Damn all rich people to hell.
1. Shades of Red

_**Author's Note:**_ _Hiya! I'm back and better than ever! This updating system will be super sporadic, but I'm doing this for_ _**Airis Hanamori **_and I hope to make sure my new friend is satisfied by it, at least a little. As per usual, this is a prologue sort of thing and the chapters will get longer as we go. Have fun!

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ No shit, Sherlock._

Harry Potter, a few simple days ago, had worked in a café to help make sure his meager rent for his meager apartment got paid each month. He had rushed the three miles from his public college to his job and tied a black apron around his slim waist before running a hand through untamable, windswept black locks and asking whether he would be cooking or waiting tables. A few simple days ago, before he was forced to choose between quitting or dying, he had been told to be a waiter. He hadn't thought it any different than any other day, not even when a pompous blonde started hitting on him. Harry, an incredibly bright, slightly reclusive nineteen year old, was nowhere near ugly. While he didn't consider himself attractive, he couldn't call himself unattractive, either.

True, most people didn't come onto him quite as fiercely as the blonde did – Draco Malfoy, Harry reminded himself – but it still wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Malfoy, with his stark arrogance and incredibly irritating way of assuming that Harry was a prostitute by night, not only had a rich family background, but connections to the underground, too! Harry knew because after turning Malfoy down at every opportunity, not always with the polite smile he was supposed to carry, Malfoy had returned with a friend. Harry had been finishing closing up when an extremely tall, extremely handsome stranger had walked over to his boss and handed the man a piece of paper. Harry had stared for a moment, of course; who wouldn't? But then he had went back to his work, like a good employee.

Which was precisely why he had been surprised at the suave man's hand landing on his shoulder. Before Harry had a chance to turn and ask him if he could help with anything, the man leaned over so that his mouth was a hair's breadth away from Harry's ear and whispered a chilling sentence.

"_You work for me now_."

It was later explained that Malfoy had told the man – Tom Riddle, Harry later found out – who was apparently dating said blonde male, that Harry had been sexually harassing him nonstop for the past few weeks. The boyfriend had come to settle his blonde sex partner's problem, most likely because sex was guaranteed to him if he did. Harry never got so far as to ask why Riddle felt the need to 'protect' his lover when they clearly weren't in love. He never wanted to. In the end, Harry didn't put a stop to Malfoy's lies. As much as Harry hated being roped into a job as a clean-up boy for a mob boss and his henchmen, there was no guarantee that Malfoy didn't really have feelings for Riddle, and Harry really didn't want to be the one that ruined things between the two narcissistic assholes.

Nice to a fault, his friend Luna had always told him. But it wasn't as if he had a hero-complex or anything; Harry was just a dreamer who liked to believe that true love was possible. He supposed that was what had actually landed him in the predicament of either dying or simultaneously fearing for his life and his state of housing. He couldn't pay rent without a job, after all.

"Potter! Coffee! Now!" That was Bellatrix Black calling. Harry was fairly sure that she was clinically insane.

"Coming!" In truth, he didn't mind the job so much. Besides Malfoy's constant remarks and Riddle's crude, offhanded comments, the other members of the mob were actually fairly pleasant.

There was Bellatrix, who hated everything and everyone but Riddle, but she only bothered Harry when she wanted credit for something Riddle wanted done. Sirius Black, Bellatrix's cousin, was there, too. Harry really liked him. The older man was always goofing off and making jokes toward Malfoy, which Harry definitely enjoyed. Oh, and Sirius's almost-lover, Rodolphus Black. Harry wasn't entirely sure whether or not they were related, but it wasn't really any of his business, and even if it was, he wouldn't mind. Watching Rodolphus make passes at an evasive Sirius was just too much fun. He couldn't forget Ronald Weasley, either. The tall, lanky redhead may not have been the brightest bulb in the box, but he was absolutely brilliant when it came to strategies. Besides, what he lacked in brains his girlfriend made up for in spades. She was probably the smartest person that Harry had ever met! Not counting Riddle, of course, but Harry was reluctant to compliment the man too often.

"Here you go." Scalding hot, plain black coffee, just how Riddle liked it. Bellatrix gave a crazed grin before nodding and taking the cup from him. Her way of thanks, he supposed. Harry watched with light amazement as Riddle took and elegant gulp of the putrid drink (much too bitter, in Harry's opinion) without waiting for it to cool down and without flinching when it slipped down his throat. For a short while, he had wondered why Bellatrix bothered making him make it when Riddle could see him from where he sat, but after that short while Harry decided it was just another thing he didn't care enough about to delve into.

Malfoy disconnected his lips from Riddle's collarbone where he was previously trying to devour the older man or something of the like, and deep, chocolate brown, red-tinted orbs cracked open in annoyed questioning. Both stormy grey and deadly brown turned towards forest green a moment later, and Harry couldn't help but tense.

"Where's my cup, Potter?" Harry just blinked at the demanding inquiry that was clearly supposed to be considered an order.

"Right over there next to the pot. You can go fetch it any time you like." Just because Harry was nice didn't mean he was a pushover. Especially not to the man who could take all the blame for his current predicament. Malfoy scowled.

"Well, why aren't you 'fetching' it for me?" Harry saw Riddle's hands tighten ever so slightly on Malfoy's waist, probably a warning against not continuing the earlier treatment, and Harry let a small smile slip onto his face. Maybe Riddle was jealous? Perhaps the two really did care for each other?

"Because the last time I checked, you don't work here, I don't work for anyone but people who work for the bastard you're trying to turn into your next meal." The chocolate-tinted-crimson eyes narrowed further at the comment, and Malfoy's sneer seemed to ingrain itself in his face. If there was one thing that Harry had learned in his last few days it was that people didn't insult Riddle.

Ever.

His smile widened. Too bad he wasn't a person. At least, according to his sad excuse for an extended family he wasn't.

"Is there something you're trying to say, Potter?" Green eyes darted between brown and grey before a small timer on his watch sounded in the room, signaling that his work day had officially ended. And suddenly Harry's large smile was a panicked frown.

"Shit! I've got to go!" The high-spirited green-eyed boy was out the door without another glance at any of them, muttered curses falling from his lips. He was later for his next class, and Professor Snape (his chemistry professor) hated him enough without direct reason.

With that in mind, Harry ran all the way to the college and burst into the chemistry room without stopping, skidding to his desk without hurting himself or anyone in his way by means of pure luck. While silently congratulating himself, the young man managed to stutter out a quick apology. The apology was, expectedly, not accepted.

"Mr. Potter, if you must be late to my class then why do you bother coming at all? And such a flamboyant entrance… One might think you crave this juvenile attention." His voice was gravelly and dark, and Harry gritted his teeth to keep himself from retorting. Respecting authority had never been the young man's strongpoint, as one could clearly see from the way he talked to Malfoy and, on occasion, Riddle.

"Sorry, Professor Snape. It won't happen again." It wasn't a lie, as many thought. Harry genuinely tried to be on time. He was just terrible with time management was all. Green eyes lowered to the floor in what he hoped Snape would take as a show of submission but was really just Harry's best attempt not to speak out of turn and get kicked out of the class. Harry didn't doubt Snape knew about his inner defiance – it was like the older man could read minds or something – but the professor must have been feeling gracious because all he did was turn with a swish of his trench coat and get back to the lesson, allowing Harry to take his seat next to a random girl in the back of the class.

Somehow, Harry couldn't help but think that the week wasn't going to get any better.


	2. Shades of Orange

_**Author's Note:**_ _Okay,_ _a few people have been questioning if this is related to a manga called __**Totally Captivated**__, so I checked it out. I'll admit that the fact that there are slight similarities, but I went to great lengths to read the entire thing (which is really fricking long, by the way) and am here to tell you that there aren't many more similarities in my plans that I can see. I'm not copying, I swear._

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ . Haha. Ha. Good one._

"For the final time, I'm not going to sleep with you!" Sirius jumped away from where Rodolphus was most likely molesting him, and Harry smiled before taking a drink of his chocolate-hazelnut (with a dash of almond) cream-based Frappuccino. He had made it by mistake at his last job, and it had quickly become his favorite drink. It was really too bad that he was the only one that could make it just right. Otherwise getting a hold of one every day would be a lot easier.

"Correction, Sirius. We already have." Rodolphus raised his left hand to show off a silver wedding band which Sirius held the match of, though he never wore it.

"One fucking night in Reno where we were drunk off our asses that we could just forget about if you'd sign the damn divorce papers! That doesn't count and you know it, Rudy!" But Rodolphus just leaned back and admired the ring.

"Correction, Sirius. You were drunk. I was perfectly sober and aware of what I was getting us into. With that knowledge, along with the knowledge that I'll never be able to trick you into getting drunk with me again, why would I sign those papers?" Harry turned to the check book he was balancing, which was coincidentally the most money he had ever seen, knowing that they were going to have their usual argument – which Sirius would lose – before Riddle got tired of it and told them either to get over it or get out. They would shut up.

"What do you think you're doing?" The smooth voice that practically dripped sexual prowess, just like its master, assaulted Harry's senses like nothing else, and the younger man jumped.

"Shit, Riddle! Why the hell can't you ask questions from your desk like every other normal boss in the world?" The man's lips had brush the outer lobe of Harry's ear, he was sure. "And have you ever heard of personal space? Stay out of my octagon!" Not the best way to talk to his boss, admittedly, but what was Riddle going to do? Fire him? Brown-red eyes narrowed dangerously, and suddenly Harry felt like a mouse cornered by a snake. Yes, Riddle would fire him, and because he was _Tom motherfucking Riddle_, as Malfoy had so nicely put it, he would probably use real fire.

"What did you just say to me?" Green met brown for a long minute while Harry brought his hand up to run through messy locks and gave a nervous laugh.

"I said that Ron had a special date planned for him and Hermione, so she asked me to do this for her today. What did you think I said?" If Harry made it to New Year, his resolution was going to be thinking before opening his mouth. Riddle held his gaze for a few more seconds in which Harry refused to abandon all of his dignity and look away before Riddle finally moved his eyes to the checkbook.

"Where's your calculator?" There was yet another thing that annoyed Harry: if Riddle asked something, there had to be an answer, but the man adored changing topics on everyone else so that they never got to know what they wanted! Still, Harry turned to look at the small book as well with an only slightly irritated expression.

"It's in my backpack. I thought about using it, but in the end it seemed quicker just to do it in my head." Green eyes trailed back up the enticing male in front of him as quickly as they could without missing the eye-candy completely and found a spot behind Riddle's head to stare at. "Speaking of doing things more quickly, I'd probably be finished by now if you weren't breathing down my neck all day." Without warning, Riddle moved to be even closer to Harry, his hand settled on Harry's collarbone, way too close to Harry's neck for comfort.

"If I feel like breathing down your neck, I will. And if you want to keep a neck to get breathed down, I suggest you adjust your attitude." Riddle's incredibly sensuous voice was dark and dangerous, and Harry couldn't help but notice Malfoy sitting languidly on Riddle's desk, grinning at the fact that Harry was being threatened by his lover. He couldn't help but notice how this situation was like his childhood where his uncle would threaten him, sometimes with words, sometimes with physical violence, in the middle of the street and still no one would help him. Just like back in his neighborhood, Harry had to help himself.

"Yes, Sir." He just had to know which course of action was the best to take, and right then, with Riddle, it was submission. The hand left Harry's skin, and Riddle stepped out of his personal space, allowing his imaginary octagon to reform.

"Good dog. Now, use a calculator. I don't care how smart you think you are. If a single penny of my money goes missing, it'll be your carcass I take it out of." _Good dog_. The best course of action was definitely submission. It assured that he would make it out alive and that nothing would go wrong. All he had to do was submit.

"Yes, Sir." But there was no guarantee that one day the best course of action wouldn't be to submit, and on that day, Riddle had better be prepared. Harry may never have killed anyone before, but that didn't mean he couldn't put up a hell of a fight. That failed to show, however, as Harry stomped over to the corner he had tossed his backpack in, all the while trying to choose between strangling Malfoy for his damned smirk or shooting Riddle for, well, just for being Riddle.

"And stop thinking about ways to kill me. We all know it'll never happen." Harry turned to look at Riddle, who hadn't yet taken his eyes off of the numbers Harry had been working on, while throwing his hands in the air.

"I can't do anything around here!" He couldn't even do math without a calculator.

"That's what being a dog is about, Potter. Obeying orders." Obeying orders. No will to do anything but what the master of the house wants.

"_As long as you live under my roof, you will do as I say, you freak! I am your master!"_ Words Harry wished he could forget echoed in his mind, and he didn't even bother looking at Malfoy while he picked up his backpack.

"Hey! Don't turn your back on me!" At Draco's shouted order, Harry paused. He could tell by the look on his friends' faces that his eyes were colder than usual. Hell, even Riddle looked slightly less bored than usual. Yet the boy couldn't muster it within himself to care.

"That's the good thing about being a stray instead of a pureblood, Malfoy. You don't have to follow orders." Harry walked out the door without another word to anyone. He could figure out how to appease Riddle for leaving a few hours early when he cooled down. For the time being, though, he would settle for a nice, long walk.

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

Harry was dead tired. For the past few weeks, Malfoy had been working hard to make his life hell, and Riddle had been no better ever since he had left early that one day. He was constantly calling on Harry in an attempt to rile him up or something of the sort, as though he actually wanted to see Harry angry again. Not to mention the night job he had been forced to take to pay for his apartment. The exams were also quickly approaching and Bellatrix had 'accidentally; spilled coffee all over his notes, so every spare moment was spent trying to recopy them from memory instead of sleeping. That was probably why Harry forgot to sensor his thoughts as he stepped out of the elevator onto the office floor and saw Riddle asleep (lucky asshole) on the couch.

"Gorgeous, isn't he?" Draco was obviously trying to make Harry jealous. Red-brown eyes cracked open, allowing Harry access to the knowledge that Riddle was a light sleeper, and Harry just couldn't remember why he was supposed to lie.

"Extremely." The startling eyes of a murderer opened the rest of the way to look at him in question; not confusion, as Riddle knew how god he looked; not arrogance, as he wasn't sure why Harry was only now admitting to it.

"I'll bet you wish you were anywhere near worthy enough to find a man like him." Draco's voice was haughty, and Bellatrix watched him closely from the other side of the room, probably trying to gauge whether or not she had more competition for his affection. Not for the first time that morning, he wished the others weren't out doing whatever they did when they weren't at the office, leaving him alone with the three people who would throw a party if he died. Still, Harry didn't break eye contact with his boss.

"Not really." And, honestly, he didn't. Bellatrix called him out on his statement immediately.

"Liar!" She turned to the now fully awake Riddle with a frown. "He's lying! There's no way he doesn't want you!" Her frown turned to a sneer as she faced Harry again. "You just admitted that you find him attractive!" She didn't want anyone to be able to resist Riddle. Harry was too tired to care.

"Yes, he's physically attractive. You would have to be blind not to see that. Just because he's hot doesn't mean I want a relationship with him." Green eyes never broke contact with red-brown. "Besides, no offense meant," Harry paused and corrected himself, "well, I actually don't care if you're offended. You're the kind of guy that makes me want to ram my head against a wall until I pass out. Going out with someone like you would be a blatant display of masochism." A ding was heard in the background, causing Harry to smile sleepily. "Coffee's done."

If he had been in a more alert state, he probably would have noticed the fact that Riddle hadn't once looked away from him; was still looking at him.

"Why are you working today?" Rodolphus gave Harry an odd look as he walked into the room, apparently finished with whatever he was doing.

"Um, making Satan a cup of coffee to make sure that he doesn't put a bullet between my eyes? As much as I like red and green, no thanks." Rodolphus walked with Harry as the younger male started the trek over to Riddle's desk, coffee in hand.

"What about exams?" Though Rodolphus rarely ever showed emotions, Harry could tell that his questions were leaning towards concern. With a smile, Harry sat the coffee down in front of Riddle.

"It's no wonder Sirius loves you so much. You're a kind man, Rodolphus." Harry patted him on the shoulder before walking back over to where his homework had been tossed. Rodolphus didn't thank Harry, though the latter was fairly sure that the hit man enjoyed being reassured of Sirius's feelings since Sirius himself was in denial. That was fine. Harry didn't do it for the recognition. He did it for the effect.

"Rudy! Rudy, what have I told you about— Hi, Harry! I didn't know you'd be here today!" Sirius grinned goofily. "Aren't exams coming up?" Green eyes rose from the papers on the table in front of them.

"Yeah. I just figured…" Harry trailed off to yawn before continuing, "…that I can't study if I'm dead, so here I am." Sirius stared at Harry for a moment before his thoughtful look became a roguish grin and he waggled his eyebrows.

"Oh, right! I forgot that you stalked little Draco over there! You know, you really don't strike me of that kind of guy, but I guess most people don't assume me to be a murderer, either, so… Yeah. Whatever floats your boat." Harry allowed himself a sardonic smirk while looking over at Malfoy.

"What can I say? He was more enticing at a distance. You know, back when he didn't have tall, fairly muscular men waltz in and turn your life upside down by pointing a proverbial gun at your head." Riddle hadn't pulled an actual gun on Harry yet, and for that the younger man was grateful. Sure, Harry knew his way around a gun, but he wasn't comfortable being on the other end of one.

"Maybe if you weren't so ugly and annoying, something could have spawned from your obsession?" Malfoy walked over to them as Harry took a sip of his sugared down coffee, a poor substitute for his usual brew.

"Remind me to thank God for my lack of allure." Hermione walked in the room with a confused smile on her face.

"Lack of allure? Harry, if I weren't so in love with Ronald, I'd have asked you out to dinner by now. And I'll have you know that my standards are quite high." Malfoy scowled.

"Not high enough, apparently. If my standards were that low I wouldn't have _Tom_." Harry smirked at that, unable to resist the jab that Malfoy had left himself wide open for.

"And if Riddle's standards were that low, he _would_ have you. Oh, wait…" Sirius snorted at the joke and Rodolphus smirked while Hermione hid her mouth behind her hand as though she wasn't laughing, but Riddle's reaction was probably the most notable.

"Say my name." Riddle was sitting up now, eyes trained almost dangerously on Harry.

"Um, Riddle?" It was such an odd demand that Harry wasn't entirely sure how to respond other than with compliance.

"My full name." Green orbs narrowed, too, but in defiant confusion.

"I don't know your full name." And in all honesty he didn't really want to. Riddle didn't seem to care about that aspect as he gave Harry the needed information.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle." The name spelled itself out in Harry's mind, and he took a split second to think about it before Harry's mind drew a connection that most others wouldn't have.

"Lord Voldemort." The others looked confused, but the wheels in Harry's head were spinning too quickly for him to stop and explain. "You really are evil!" Despite his words, Harry was grinning.

"Okay, I understand a lot of what you say, but this is just confusing." Sirius spoke up, and Harry ran a hand through his hair sheepishly before turning around and pulling a well-worn book out of his backpack. It was titled _The Misadventures of_ _Neville Longbottom._

"This is my favorite book. It's about an abused boy who finds out he's the savior of the wizarding world. His arch nemesis, Lord Voldemort, is trying to kill all non-magical people and non-purebloods." Harry's explanation only earned him more stares.

"You've finally lost it. What the hell does some old children's tale have to do with Tom?" But before Harry could explain further, Riddle entered the conversation.

"Lord Voldemort is an anagram for Tom Marvolo Riddle." Riddle studied Harry for a long minute before, "Quite the coincidence, isn't it? Or perhaps you're not wanting to settle for my surname anymore? Perhaps you'd rather call me your Dark Lord?" And for the first time in a long time, Harry felt excitement bubbling up in his stomach.

"You've read it?" There was no other way Riddle could know that they referred to Voldemort as the Dark Lord. "Who's your favorite character? What's your favorite part? I always liked the unicorns and the thestles, but Hagrid was seriously cool. Oh, and Dumbledore…" The stares again. That was when Harry remembered that he wasn't supposed to converse with Riddle, just blindly serve him. A blush raced up Harry's cheeks.

"Yes, I've read the book. I found it boring and unrealistic. After all, no child is going to be magically rescued from abusive grandparents after his own parents are tortured into going crazy." Riddle may have found it boring, but he obviously paid attention. Slowly, Harry found himself smiling.

"You're right. In situations like that, the kid has to rescue himself." Like Harry had. "But it does serve as a savior in some ways. It gives hope." Whether Riddle liked it or not, Hagrid had busted down Harry's mental walls when he was eight and took him to a magical place called Durmstrang, inspiring Harry, in a roundabout way, to free himself when he turned eleven. But then, that was Harry's business, not Riddle's.

"You sound like you have personal experience in this." Not anyone's but Harry's, really. Still, the youngest in the group found himself responding to Riddle's probe.

"Yeah. I knew a little boy a long time ago that went through something similar." Green met red-ish brown. "He's dead now." The scared little boy had died the moment Harry had set himself free. "Still haunts me sometimes though." There was silence. There were more stares. And then Sirius spoke.

"Why didn't you save him? If you knew what was happening to him—I mean, for God's sake, Harry, he was a kid!" Sirius felt strongly about the abuse of children since he had been neglected by his own family.

"I got there the moment he died." That was when Harry started to live. "Believe me, Sirius. He's in a better place now."

And maybe one day, Harry would join him.

_**(***Iridescent*****__**)**_

"Mr. Potter, if you continue this disrespectful pattern of being late into my exam days, you are sure to fail." Harry sighed out an apology to his chemistry teacher as he sat down. He felt hot and tired, and he had overslept by a few minutes. "But perhaps with your grades in here, you'll fail no matter what time you arrive?" The greasy git was so condescending sometimes. Harry felt irritation flood his system but refused to lift his head to see those dark, depressing eyes. Harry hated those eyes.

A book slammed onto the desk next to Harry's head, and green eyes jerked up to see Snape standing above him.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Mr. Potter." Snape's voice was deep, and he used that to his advantage as he turned Harry's name into a slow drawl. For a moment, Harry wondered why the older man hated him so much. After that moment, he decided he didn't care.

"I apologize, Professor Snape." There was no bite in Harry's voice, and Snape seemed to take that into account as he stared into Harry's eyes for a good minute or two. When the man finally spoke, it wasn't what Harry had expected.

"Tutoring is every Tuesday and Thursday. It begins at _promptly_ 7:30. I expect to see you there, Mr. Potter." And then Snape turned away, trench coat billowing in the imaginary wind.

Harry hated that about him, too.

"You know, Harry, I have no idea what you did to make Snape hate you so much, but you definitely did it well!" Green orbs moved to observe Cedric's grin before going back to the old chalk board that Snape insisted on putting directions and notes on.

"Yeah, well when you figure it out, tell me so that I know what, exactly, to apologize for." Quite clearly, Harry resented being resented. Cedric just laughed.

"If Cho could see you now I don't think she would have broken up with you." Cho Chang. Harry had dated her for around a week before she had said he was too nice and she needed a man, not a boy, to take care of her. Harry had done nothing to sway her choice in his favor. After all, he wanted basically the same thing. Too bad it took a rather bitchy high school girl to make him realize that.

"Fuck you, Cedric." Perfect white teeth flashed at Harry as Cedric leaned over to look at Harry's notes, something the dark haired boy was accustomed to by now.

"Yes, please." He didn't mean it, of course, but it still got a small smile out of Harry. Cedric had transferred to Harry's high school junior year, and they had become fast friends. The fact that they chose the same college was luck.

"You know, maybe comments like that are what got Cho to break up with _you_." Cedric just laughed quietly again.

"Who cares? The only reason I asked her out was to figure out what you liked so much about her." Harry scoffed, but he knew that Cedric probably wasn't exaggerating.

"You're an idiot." Idiot. Genius. Same difference.

"Maybe, but I'm an idiot with great hair and a body even Snape can't resist." The thought of Snape with Cedric, of Snape with _anyone_ had Harry smiling a very genuine, unstrained smile for the first time in what felt like forever. He hardly noticed the fact that Cedric simply stared at Harry for the rest of class. Maybe he didn't notice because Cedric had done that ever since they had first met.

The man was just weird like that.

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

"Hullo, is there a Harrison Potter here, by any chance?" Harry's head snapped up at a voice that he could never forget saying a name that he never wanted to hear again.

"Down the hall to the right. And tell the brat to pay his rent!" Harry hated his apartment manager almost as much as he hated the man asking for him. Green eyes darted around the hallway, but there was no way out other than towards the man seeking him. No epiphanies came in the nick of time. Harry was spotted.

"God. It really is you." Dudley Dursley had definitely filled out over the years, now standing at a full 6'2 with a large, muscled build that Harry had once known to be pudgy. Light blonde tufts sat neatly on his head and light blue eyes stared at Harry as though they had never seen each other before. Harry wished that was true. "Harrison, I—" But the larger man was quickly interrupted.

"It's Harry now." And Harry hated how kind the years had been to Dudley.

"Harry." Dudley tested the name on his tongue. "It suits you." He was trying to make conversation.

"And leaving suits _you_." Almost before Harry could finish his sentence, Dudley was speaking again.

"Please, no! Just listen to me for a moment, Harry! I'll do anything!" Harry glared at the man's hand, which had made a futile attempt to grab his arm and stop him.

"You'll put the barrel of a .45 in your mouth and pull the trigger?" The younger's voice was cold and harsh.

"As long as you hear me out first." There was no hesitation, and Harry hated that. He hated it because he knew Dudley was telling the truth. With a heavy sigh, Harry looked away.

"I have to be at work at 4:20." The words were grudging. Dudley's smile was brilliant as he took a small step closer to Harry.

"Then I guess we'd better get moving."

They left without another word.


	3. Shades of Yellow

_**Author's Note:**_ _Hiya. I love this story, and it's about to speed up!_

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This belongs to me just about as much as a soul belongs to a ginger kid. Haha. Inside joke; no offense meant; I love gingers; blah, blah, blah…_

Harry's chat with Dudley had went surprisingly well. Surprisingly because Harry had spent the majority of his life despising his cousin. Yet the way that Dudley had explained the situation – the fact that he had cut all ties with his family as soon as he could – it got to Harry.

"The hell are you daydreaming about?" Malfoy was ticked about the fact that Harry had come in a little late, despite the fact that it was really none of his business.

"Just a new friend." A new friend. And old enemy. He couldn't believe the transformation was possible.

"What? Did you finally find someone desperate enough to fuck you?" Harry just leaned back in his chair at Malfoy's snide comment.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Why? Is Riddle not satisfying enough and you have to live vicariously through others?" Dudley was no prospect for sex, but the blonde was fun to rile up.

"Like hell! He's the best fuck you'll _never_ have!" People were seriously defensive over Riddle, and Harry couldn't understand why.

"Good to know." Harry glanced at the clock in a bored manner. Dudley was supposed to pick him up for dinner. "So, Riddle, why did you want me to say your name?" Harry found that he actually enjoyed taunting Malfoy, and one of the best ways to do that was to ignore him. Riddle didn't look up from his stack of papers. "Riddle?" Still no response. Malfoy smirked. Harry paused. "Tom?"

And suddenly every eye in the room was on Harry. No one called Riddle by his first name without being on a personal level with him. Harry had been breaking a lot of rules over how to properly interact with Riddle lately. Yet whatever Riddle was going to say was interrupted by a knock on the door. Very slowly, seeing as no one else was going to move, Harry did it himself.

"Harry! Oh, good! I was afraid you'd given me the wrong address!" Dudley seemed genuinely relieved, just as Harry was genuinely surprised.

"I thought we were supposed to meet downstairs." Harry hadn't particularly wanted his, erm, _co_-_workers_ to meet Dudley. At least, not a particular three of them.

"I know, but you I wanted to surprise you." And then Dudley flashed his brilliantly straight, incredibly white teeth, and Harry swore he heard a near-growl behind him.

"And who, pray tell, are you?" Riddle sounded calm, but there was something dark in his voice that sent shivers up Harry's spine. Dudley clearly got the same feeling.

"I'm Dudley Dursley, Sir. I hope you don't mind me stealing Harry away a few minutes early." Dudley's smile had its charm turned on high, but Harry could clearly see the unease. Riddle just cocked a perfect brow.

"Suppose I do mind. What then?" His voice was much deeper than Dudley's; much more sensual. Much more dangerous.

"Then I guess you'll just have to get the fuck over it, won't you?" Dudley blinked at Harry's exclamation.

"Harrison!" Both boys in the doorway flinched: Dudley for using the wrong name without thinking and Harry for the name and reprimanding tone that was used. After that split second, Harry smoothed out his features and turned around, unwilling to look at anyone as he pushed Dudley out the door.

He knew Dudley didn't think such language was necessary, especially in front of his boss, and used the name out of habit, but Harry couldn't brush off the bad feelings that went along with it. He doubted that he ever would.

They left without another word.

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

Harry listened to Dudley talk with a smile on his face, wishing that more days could have nice, calm points.

"Harry?" Scratch that. No calm points for Harry.

"Yes, Cedric?" Harry twisted in his seat to get a better look at his approaching friend.

"I thought you said you were single?" There was a joking tone in Cedric's voice that made Harry feel as though he was back in chemistry, hiding his head from Snape.

"I am. This is my cousin." Harry motioned his head towards Dudley, who raised his hand in a short wave. Cedric looked surprised, which was understandable since Harry was, as far as he knew, an orphan, but the older male's features smoothed out a split second later.

"Well, hot damn. And here I thought you'd finally found someone." Cedric's eyes trailed over Dudley. "He's certainly handsome enough. Maybe he can introduce you to someone?" At that, Harry's smile widened. Cedric was always trying to set him up with someone.

"I'm good, Cedric, but thank you." They went through that almost daily.

"No, I'm serious, Harry. You're like a little brother to me, and I want to see you happy." Cedric pushed Harry over in the booth and sat down, clearly fine with the fact that he was intruding. "Besides, you've been running haggard lately. What with your new job and your other new job and Snape's study sessions are starting tomorrow, which I'm sure aren't going to help your situation any, I'm surprised you're still standing!" The smile was gone from his face, and Dudley butted in.

"Two jobs and you still live in that shitty apartment? What, are they paying you in smiles or something? Harry, I didn't want to offer this too soon, but come and live with me. Just until you find a better place." Dudley sounded so concerned, so kind, so damned caring that it was all Harry could do not to accept the offer right then and there.

"Thank you, but no thank you." Harry left out the fact that he was very near being evicted and extremely tired. The prospect of living with Dudley scared him more than being homeless. Despite Dudley's obvious change, Harry would never be able to erase his memories of his childhood, and the thought that Vernon or Petunia might drop by for a visit, the thought of going anywhere near his childhood… It scared the hell out of Harry.

"But, Harry—" Dudley obviously wished to say more, but he thought better of it and simply let Harry's excuseless rejection of his idea slide. "The offer's always on the table if you change your mind." There was light pleading in his voice. Harry gave a stale smile.

"I'll think about it." All three of them knew he was lying, but no one said anything about it. Silently, Harry thanked them for that.

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

"What the hell are we doing here?" Harry questioned Riddle without fear as he fought to stay awake in what looked to be an underground fighting rink. The tutoring session with Snape had been grueling, and the stupid job for the stupid things that he never even fucking did wasn't helping.

"It's kind of like a tournament. Fighting and all that jazz. Don't worry. Only Rodolphus and I, and sometimes Bellatrix, but no one cares about her, ever participate. So, this'll kind of be like a day off for you." Days off were good. The mid-term had went well, so Harry had a little more time, but that all went into his second job, so it didn't really matter. Not that his second job was helping much. The eviction letter had come that morning.

"So, I can go to sleep?" This question was directed at anyone who was willing to respond, and, surprisingly, Malfoy did.

"You can try, but it gets pretty noisy, so I doubt you'll be able to." There was a small level of malice in his voice, but as Harry unselfconsciously laid himself down in the carpet next the place reserved for Riddle's crew and closed his eyes, it didn't matter. Not even Riddle could have stopped slumber from finally overtaking him.

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

"_If you want to eat, you have to finish your chores! Finish your chores, Boy!" An eight year old boy cowered in the corner, the taunting aroma of freshly cooked food rising from the table. He hadn't eaten in days. All he had wanted was a scrap of meat. Not even a full piece!_

"_Th-they are f-finished." He had finished them that morning. The list had been checked four times. _

"_What did you say to me, Freak?" Harry shouldn't have spoken. He knew he should have stayed quiet, but he couldn't. He was just so hungry!_

"_N-nothing, Sir!" Harry curled farther into himself, and Dudley walked into the room._

"_Dad, why's my brisket in the floor?" His brisket. It was Dudley's brisket. Harry had just wanted a piece. Just a piece. The rest would have stayed on the plate if not for Uncle Vernon scaring him into dropping it._

"_This little freak tried to eat it." A chubby finger shoved itself in Harry's direction, and Harry's mind screamed that he had only wanted a piece. _

"_Scar-head tried to eat my brisket?" Harry's hand subconsciously rose to cover the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. _

"_Just send him back to the cupboard. We have extra briskets." Aunt Petunia was in a good mood. Harry wished he could open his mouth to thank her. Vernon growled at the thought of showing Harry mercy, but Dudley picked the brisket off of the floor and grabbed Harry's arm none too gently to drag him to the cupboard. "Here you go, Harrison." Dudley tossed the piece of meat onto the dusty floor of the cupboard before shoving Harry in after it. "If you wanted it so bad, have it." And then the door closed and Harry was left in darkness._

_He felt around for the food, and when his hand touched it, he had the urge to cry. It was cold and lumpy and covered in small things that collected themselves on all floors, and it was the only food he'd been given in much too long. It would probably make him sick, and then his family would yell more because he would be unable to do chores properly. They would hate him more._

_In the end, Harry's stomach won out, and he began to eat._

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

Harry woke up with a sour taste in his mouth. He felt a strong need to brush his teeth and an even stronger need to go check the make-up over his scar. He did neither of those things, of course, as Sirius looked at him concernedly.

"Hey, Harry, are you okay? It looked like you were having a nightmare." A nightmare? He had thought he was over them by now, but he supposed that Dudley's reappearance had affected him more than he had originally thought.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just… Where's the bathroom?" He may not be able to brush his teeth, but the urge to check his scar was itching in his veins.

"Uh, through those doors, down the hall, and the last door on your right. Do you need me to come with you? 'Cause I already finished my fight and all—" Harry quickly interrupted him.

"I'm fine. Thank you though." He got up before Sirius or Riddle or anyone could say another word and rushed to the bathroom. His reflection mocked him, showing that his scar was perfectly covered and he was making a fool out of himself. But it was a precaution he had to take. If anyone ever found out that he was The Boy Who Lived…

Harry shuddered at the thought. His demons were his and his alone. Sharing them with another being, trusting someone to know his past and love him anyhow, it was pure stupidity. He was a freak who caused the death of his parents, yes, but he had paid his dues. Seven years with the Dursleys was enough, damn it!

His teeth gritted against one another in an attempt to calm down before shutting his eyes and counting down from ten. Again and again.

"Potter." Green eyes slammed open to see Riddle's reflection in the mirror. The anger and pain were locked away, and all Harry felt was tired.

"What do you want, Riddle?" The exhaustion was nearly tangible in his voice. Nearly crimson orbs stared back through the mirror.

"I thought I told you to use my full name." Harry's head hurt. He wanted to go home.

"Fine. What do you want, _Tom Marvolo Riddle_?" Their eyes didn't disconnect, and Harry felt a familiar strike of fear as he saw the lust flash in chocolate-crimson eyes.

"I want to know what the hell is going on with you." If Harry had misread the look in Tom's eyes then he seriously needed to start taking the medicine his therapist had prescribed when he was younger, but if the emotion really had been there than the older man wasn't acting on it.

"I'm just tired is all." He refused to turn and look into Riddle's actual eyes. There was something about the way they were looking at him, as though Harry was an annoyingly hard to solve puzzle, that unnerved him. After a long moment, Riddle sneered.

"Then go home. I don't need some sorry son of a bitch moping around my office." Harry couldn't help his reaction to Riddle's words. He spun around.

"You mean I'm free?" He could start working full time for a new apartment again? Crimson orbs narrowed and Riddle stepped out of the way of the door.

"Not even close." Of course not.

Harry didn't move towards the door.

"But I didn't stalk him in the first place, and you know it." Riddle was smart. He had to know it.

"So?" He knew and he wasn't afraid to admit it. And suddenly Harry wasn't fatigued anymore. He was angry.

"So, why the fuck are you messing with my life then? I never did a damn thing to you or any one of your cronies!" Forget Draco's happiness. He wanted his shitty, messed up excuse for a life back! But Riddle just slowly looked him up and down, as though Harry was standing naked in front of him and he wasn't impressed with what he saw. When red finally met with green again, Riddle drawled out a lazy sentence.

"Do I look like I need a reason?" What Harry hated was that he didn't. Riddle didn't need a reason for anything. He had the world at his fingertips and did with it as he pleased.

"I hate you." Something he was always too afraid to say to his uncle.

But Riddle just cocked a brow, and Harry realized how childish he must have sounded. This man, no matter the atrocities he had committed, would never be as cruel as Vernon Dursley in Harry's book. He would never be as heartless as Petunia Dursley. Riddle would never measure up. Harry didn't bother justifying his last statement as he walked out the bathroom door.

The cheers of a crowd Harry didn't remember being there were loud in his ears, and a headache was quick to attack his senses.

"Harry, where have you been?" Rodolphus was the one to confront him, and, had it been anyone else, Harry would have shook him off.

"Could you take me home?" Harry had been forced to ride there with Sirius (not that Harry owned a car anyhow) so he didn't know where he was or how to get home.

For a long moment, as though if he decided any quicker the whole place would blow, Rodolphus stared at Harry. After that, he nodded. No questions asked.

Rodolphus was officially Harry's new favorite person.

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

"Two weeks to get a higher paying job and find a new apartment? Harry, that's ridiculous." Cedric always looked out for Harry. "And if your rent gets any cheaper you'll be living in a cardboard box! Look, whether it's my offer or your cousin's, please move in with one of us!" Harry looked at Cedric, and they both knew he would say no. Harry had lived on the streets before. He wasn't afraid of them.

"I heard they were coming out with a new line of designer cardboard boxes, actually. You could always pitch in for one of those." Harry joked about his living situation, knowing that Cedric would understand his way of dealing with the problem. As much as Cedric's eyes begged him to reconsider, the other boy went along with it.

"You're certainly small enough. We could seal it up and mail you to Hogwarts each day." Cedric's smile was weak.

"I don't know. I don't trust them not to drop me at the wrong place. You know they ignore the Fragile stickers." Harry emphasized 'know' and put his hands on his hips, much like he knew Cedric's mother liked to do, and the smile grew a little stronger.

"I know. And look, I really don't mind to take you to work every day. If you want me to do that, all you have to do is ask." Cedric was urging Harry to ask, but Harry took one look at his friend's jaguar and declined. He could use the exercise.

"Thanks anyway, Cedric." He shut the door just soft enough as not to slam it and started walking away. He walked into the overly large building and walked up way too many flights of steps to be healthy because he didn't trust elevators. He opened the door to see an empty office and started to hate the world. Riddle had fucking told him to come at nine in the fucking morning, and where was Riddle? Nowhere!

Harry tossed his things to their usual corner and plopped himself down on the couch. This so wasn't cool. Riddle's requests had been getting ridiculous since the bathroom incident. Everything from getting a cup of coffee from the other side of town to counting the ceiling tiles on the left side of the building. And on the one day he didn't have to go to work or school or anything until noon, Riddle calls him in. Fucking asshole.

"Harry?" Hermione looked at him oddly, and he shrugged in response.

"Riddle said to be here, so I'm here." Harry was frowning, but Hermione didn't say anything. She just made busywork, facing a desk on the side of the room instead of Harry. "If you have something to say, just say it." She was never quiet, so something must have been on her mind.

"You know, I just really don't think you and Tom need to keep up this charade." Harry cocked a brow, having no idea what she was talking about, but she kept going. "I mean, we all see how you two look at each other. There's a fire in your gaze that has him more interested than I've ever seen him before, and I don't care what you say, I know for a fact that you didn't stalk Draco." She finally turned to face Harry, concentration and determination to say what she wanted to say clear on her face. "I know he can be irritating at times, but he just has this thing where he likes to pick on the people he likes. He likes to push them and see where his boundaries are, and then go past those boundaries. He never did that with Draco, Harry. Never." Harry forced his brow back into its usual spot, but his frown didn't change.

"Hermione, I love you guys. I adore you and Ron, especially when you cook for us, and being with Rodolphus and Sirius is like being with the brothers I never had." Harry looked directly into her eyes to make sure that she knew he was serious. "Riddle, however, is a man I wouldn't mind never seeing again. If his objective is ruining my life, he's getting there. If it's earning my affections, he's barking up the wrong tree. I would rather take a trip back to my childhood than be in his presence a second longer than necessary." Pissed off at the fact that he couldn't do anything to make Riddle go away, Harry pushed himself off of the couch and stomped over to his backpack.

"Harry, wait—" but Harry wasn't in the mood to wait.

"Tell Riddle not to call me on my day off again." He picked up the sack of books and slung it over his shoulder.

"Why don't you tell me yourself?" Still crouching on the ground, Harry relaxed his shoulders and took a deep breath, preparing himself to get calm and stay that way before standing.

"Don't call me on my day off again." He tried to leave again, but Tom didn't move this time.

"I'll call you whenever I see fit." Harry knew that Riddle was asserting his dominance, but Harry wasn't one to be dominated.

"Then I'll ignore you whenever I see fit. Now, move." Riddle obviously wasn't used to people standing up to him, but instead of pulling out a gun and forcing Harry into submission like he was sure Riddle had done before, the man just leaned forward into Harry's personal space.

"Make me." Riddle's breath smelled like scotch and chocolate, and Harry wondered how that was appealing. He wondered how he could smell it even though Riddle was obviously sober and he wondered why it mattered as much as it did. So, Harry did the only thing he could think to do in a situation like that.

He placed his right hand on the back of Riddle's neck, entangling his fingers in thick, surprisingly soft locks and his left hand at Riddle's waist, nails digging lightly into his skin through the crimson shirt that, as much as Harry hated it, really brought out Riddle's eyes. Harry leaned up on his tiptoes so that his lips were just barely an inch away from Riddle's before quickly moving back and planting his feet firmly on the ground, tightening his grip on Riddle's hair in the process so that Riddle's head would be forced down with him. The other hand splayed out with a tight grip on Riddle's waist to hold the body in place.

Slowly, with warning dripping from every syllable, Harry whispered, "Don't tempt me." Then he pushed Riddle aside and walked calmly out of the room. If Riddle planned on stopping him, running wouldn't help.

But he didn't run and Riddle didn't chase. He just went home.

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

"That poor boy." Hermione sounded sincerely sad as she sat down at the large table that Malfoy had reserved as a celebration for his, well, Harry didn't actually know what it was for. Ron had just dragged him along for the ride.

"_What_ poor boy?" Bellatrix only came because Riddle was there, and she obviously didn't appreciate the fact that Riddle wasn't the only one there.

"The Boy Who Lived." Harry tensed at the term.

"The what?" Malfoy was just as displeased as Bellatrix, but over the talk not being about him. Rodolphus stepped in.

"The Boy Who Lived. You were probably too young to know about it. There was a national case concerning a serial killer around fifteen years ago where only one survivor was ever found. His parents were killed in front of him in cold blood, but then something backfired – I'm not sure of the details – and the main offender's partner was killed. The police arrived shortly after, but not before he managed to carve a lightning bolt shaped scar into the survivor's forehead. That way he would know who to go after when he got out of prison." Rodolphus paused to thank the waitress for his wine, and Malfoy spoke up.

"That's why he's called the Boy Who Lived, right? Why not use his name, instead?" He sounded like the story was a bore, but the blonde was obviously interested. Sirius went on in Rodolphus's place.

"No one knows what his name was. Neither of his parents' names was released, either. His family, mother's sister, I think, kept his name out of the papers. They didn't want his life to be burdened by what happened to his parents or some shit like that. But what brought him up?" Now, that, Harry wasn't sure of. The other details, while they were iffy, weren't too far off the mark, but there was really no reason why it should be brought up so many years later. Hermione answered that question without hesitation.

"Today is the anniversary of when his parents were killed, and I just can't imagine how that boy must feel. Especially knowing that the perpetrator escaped just a few years after he was convicted. I mean, the inner turmoil he has to face every day, fearing that someone's going to see his scar and that the murderer will find him… Isn't that just horrible?" Now, the part about the scar was true, but not why. Harry just didn't want to be called a freak for the rest of his life. Besides, if the man who had killed his family all those years ago ever really did come after him, Harry could defend himself.

He wasn't a scared little boy anymore.

"Plenty terrible, but it sounds like the kid had a nice, paranoid, loving family to take him in, so who cares?" Malfoy tossed the subject aside easily, and Harry couldn't stop the bitter laughter from bubbling up his throat. Malfoy's icy blue eyes narrowed. "What's so funny, Potter? You like it when children get hurt?" Malfoy was trying to bait him, but Harry just laughed again, less bitterly this time.

"Think whatever you want, Malfoy. It's no problem of mine." In all reality, he didn't give a damn if Malfoy thought that _he_ was the murderer.

"No matter what either of you think, this is a time for partying, not mourning some stranger who had a sad childhood. Seriously, dudes. It's not like he had it any worse than the rest of us. Not really anyway." Ron shrugged the topic away, at the same time opening up an entirely new can of worms that Sirius was happy to partake in.

"Yeah. I was neglected for most of my life and when I got released from prison – which I was in because of something I didn't do – my best friend and his family had just disappeared off of the face of the planet, soon to be followed by another amazing friend dying in a wolf attack. And Rodolphus here was pressured into being the perfect pureblood son and had lots of dark deeds that we mere mortals can't know about. Then there's Hermione—" Hermione took over to speak for herself.

"My parents were 'bad blood'. They sent me to a boarding school for rich kids on a scholarship, and I was known as a Mudblood. I was tormented for seven years straight before my parents moved away and left me behind. Ron had a doting mother and father and way too many siblings to count. The twins, the ones that cared, were killed in a drive-by when his other brother betrayed them for a higher spot on the totem pole. His only sister turned to prostitution and his eldest brother moved to Romania with his fiancée to study lizards. He's all Ron's parents care about now." She obviously resented his family just as much as she resented her own.

"My dad's an asshole who killed my mother and presented me like a show-car." Malfoy put his two cents in, but he clearly didn't have as much resentment for his family as the others did. Bellatrix went next.

"Mommy and Daddy thought I was crazy, so they stuck me in an insane asylum and left me there for umpteen many years. Just because I like a little blood every now and again…" Now, Harry could understand her parents' actions because she was clinically insane, but the hurt she must have felt was just as real as any other. Riddle paused before he continued the cycle.

"I killed my father." There was definitely more to the story, but that was all the man was saying. And then all heads were turned towards Harry.

They wanted to know if he was an outsider with a happy, loving family or one of them, and if he was one of them what his story was. He wished he could say that he didn't belong. Green eyes turned towards the cranberry juice he had swirling in his glass before Harry slowly took a sip of the bitter liquid.

"I have an uncle and an aunt," Harry fought to keep his voice from shaking, and ended up with repressed emotions leaking into it instead: bitter hatred, pain, resentment, "and they hated me, and I hated them back." Harry's grip tightened on his glass, and he looked up. "That's all there is to it." He was obviously lying, but no one said anything about it.

Not even Riddle.


	4. Shades of Green

_**Author's Note:**_ _I love people who tell me my mistakes, but know that I both don't have a beta and put these up the exact second I finish as so not to leave you waiting. So, if you're just going to correct something, please say something nice, too. Please and thanks!_

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Does it look like I own Harry Potter? If your answer is yes, I love you._

Harry rushed forward, through the downpour, hating his life and lack of umbrellas. He was going to have to reapply his concealer when he got inside. It was waterproof, yes, but one could never be too safe. Harry slid inside the building, barely saving himself from falling over.

And on top of it all, his shirt was white. The only reprieve he had was the fact that the devil wouldn't arrive for another hour or so. The devil's bitch, however…

"What's the matter, Potter? Too poor for an umbrella?" Harry dutifully ignored Malfoy's taunt and instead turned to the back room – A place Harry usually strayed from. It was where extra things stayed. Extra shirts, extra pants, extra razors, extra guns, extra everything. It also led to a small bathroom – shower included – for overnighters. Harry was quick to take advantage of that by grabbing a random shirt, – plain black – walking into the bathroom, and locking it behind him.

He took the small bottle of concealer out of his back pocket along with his wallet and cell phone before untying his shoes, taking off his socks, stripping out of his pants and boxers and hanging them over the counter. Unbuttoning his shirt just a moment later, Harry was ready to step into a hot shower that he so richly deserved. The water at his apartment was freezing, but the water here? Harry had it turned up so high that it was nearly scalding, and his muscles were thanking him for it. At first, he was planning on waiting for the water to run cold, but after fifteen minutes of perfectly hot water, Harry realized that rich people didn't have to worry about that and figured it was about time to get out.

His boxers, pants, socks, and shoes were quickly slapped on and the black shirt that was both much too wide and much too long slipped over wet hair that Harry barely took the time to wipe over with a towel. With just as much practice as he had tying his shoes, Harry applied the cover-up to his scar. Once the cursed spot on his forehead looked just like the rest of his skin, Harry shoved his personal affects back into his pockets and unlocked the door, prepared to rejoin the world.

"Pity. And here we thought you'd drown." Bellatrix was just as nice as always, so Harry responded in kind.

"Yes, and we hoped you did." He needed to start the coffee, if not to avoid getting yelled at than to quench his thirst.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Sirius sounded very confused, but Harry didn't pause in his task.

"Making coffee. What's it look like?" Every member of Riddle's crew had a moment of crazy every now and again. Harry was learning to ignore it.

"It looks like you're trying to suck up to my lover." Malfoy was just as obnoxious as usual, so Harry waited until he turned the pot on to dignify the snarky comment with a response.

"Malfoy, I realize that you're a jealous, brown-nosing bitch, but not everyone is like you." It was the nicest way Harry could think to put it.

"You're nothing but an ill-mannered bastard who needs a good disciplining." Malfoy snarled the words, and Harry took a sip of his coffee, promising himself he would get himself his preferred drink as soon as he could afford it.

"Is there a point you're trying to make, or are you just stating the obvious?" Surprisingly enough, the next one up to speak was Riddle.

"You _do_ realize that you're wearing my shirt, right?" Harry glanced down at the plain black t-shirt he was wearing and was honestly surprised. He had picked the least dressy thing in there and was actually expecting it to be Sirius's. His hand gripped the fabric of the neckline and lifted it a little.

"Well, no wonder it smells like the cologne on this thing costs more than my apartment's rent for a year." Harry wasn't smiling as he spoke the words and dropped the fabric so that it could settle on his body a moment later.

"Don't act like you don't like it, Potter." For the first time that day, in reaction to Bellatrix's words, Harry rolled his eyes. Why was everyone so insistent on him liking Riddle?

"Actually, Bella," she hated the nickname and it showed, "I don't. If I was going to wear cologne, I wouldn't pay a fortune for it and it wouldn't smell like this. I was always more of a _Black Suede_ kind of guy, to tell the truth." Slowly, Harry smiled, lost in one of his few good memories for just a second, but when Harry opened his eyes he wasn't sitting in biology 101 with Cedric making jokes about cologne, but standing in a room of murderers with a cup of scalding coffee that really needed less caffeine. "Either way I'll wash it and return it tomorrow, so don't worry." Harry really didn't see the big deal. It was just a shirt.

"Take your time. I haven't worn that shirt for a good year or two." There was something in Riddle's voice that Harry either couldn't place or simply didn't want to, and the younger man shrugged.

"Whatever you say, Riddle." Harry knew he would return it in the next day or so, but the knowledge that there was no rush was a nice touch.

"Which is why it being so large on you is even funnier than it would normally be." Malfoy's taunt meant nothing as Harry was used to having hand-me-downs that were much bigger on him than Riddle's clothing. But then, being a malnourished six year old trying to fit into an overweight ten year old's clothing did that sometimes.

"Riddle, how old are you?" Harry didn't really care, but he lovbed shoving things in Malfoy's face.

"Twenty-seven." Eight years older than Harry. Not too bad. "I'm sorry that you failed Anatomy & Physiology, Malfoy, but from twenty-five to twenty-seven, his body type isn't going to change that much. Unless he started working out an insane amount recently – which isn't possible because otherwise he would have been killed by now – or stopped working out recently – which also isn't possible because his abs are made of fucking steel or something equally unfair – there's no chance that this shirt wouldn't fit him just as well now as it did the last time he wore it, making your statement invalid." A small, arrogant smile crawled onto Harry's face, and he couldn't resist one last word.

"_Bitch_."

Malfoy then launched himself at Harry. Though he had probably never been in a serious fight before, his punch was strong, and Harry's jaw was sure to have a wonderful bruise later on in the night. Slowly, Harry moved his jaw around, making sure it was fine before wiping the side of his mouth with his hand and staring down at the blood on it. His hand moved to wipe it off on his shirt before remembering that it wasn't _his_ shirt and putting the red liquid on his pants instead.

"If you date call me, a Malfoy, something so degrading again, you'll get a lot worse than a bruised jaw." Harry supposed that if he was someone else that would have sounded threatening, but seeing as he wasn't, Harry found it funny. In fact, he couldn't have stopped himself from laughing if Riddle had pointed a gun to his head and ordered it. When he finally stopped laughing, there was a wide grin on his face that felt more genuine than anything that had touched his lips in a long while.

"You know what, Malfoy? You're not so bad after all."

Hermione proceeded to check his head.

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

When Harry went to the office that morning, he laid the folded up shirt on Riddle's desk. When he came back from lunch with Hermione and Ron, Riddle was wearing it. For a minute, Harry just stared at him. After that minute, he decided that it was odd enough to question.

"Why did you change shirts?" His question was understandable, but Riddle, apparently, wasn't in the mood for understandable.

"I felt like it." His tone was clipped, leaving no room for the conversation to continue. Harry pressed onward.

"I know you like to say that, but you wouldn't be where you are now if you just went around doing whatever you felt like." Not even Harry was stupid enough to believe that. Riddle's eyes snapped up from his paperwork, and somehow they seemed more red than brown.

"I don't think changing my shirt on a whim is going to be detrimental to my health, Potter." Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Bellatrix's hand landed on Harry's shoulder and yanked him backwards, farther away from Riddle.

"Don't speak out against your betters, brat!" She was so damn protective over Riddle that it was ridiculous.

"I'll keep that in mind when I find someone who's better." Harry shrugged her hand off. "Now, what the hell is up with today? I know you've got a permanent attitude problem, and I can relate to that much, but what is it about today that's got everyone treading on eggshells around you? Because it's fucking annoying enough to have everyone else acting odd, but when you go loopy too, I know everything's gone to hell." Riddle looked at him oddly, probably because he saw a compliment hidden somewhere amongst the insults – which Harry wasn't even sure was there but he may have accidently shoved one in – but simply said—

"Fuck off." Normally, Harry would curse right back and walk off to whatever he was supposed to be doing. Today though… Well, everyone else was acting strange. Why couldn't he? Harry's throat went dry as he continued to look at Riddle, determined to find out what was wrong but at the same time determined not to say anything that concerned his past. Then again, people who knew his past were the only ones that really bothered to look at him.

Even the very little Cedric knew made them closer.

"My parents died when I was four. They were killed by a man a lot like you. He had dark eyes and dark hair and when I screamed for help, they were too late." Harry refused to break eye contact with Riddle or let his voice shake or even _think_ about what Riddle or anyone else in the room would do with the information. "Now, what the hell is going on?" He didn't want to be excluded from the important things just because Riddle had just as many issues as he did.

"You think that a smidgen of information on you equals out to some on me?" Riddle almost sounded like it was laughable, but something deep in Harry's bones told him that he was right. It was enough.

"Yes." Harry took a step forward to replace the one Bellatrix had taken by pulling him back. For a long minute, Riddle did nothing more than stare at Harry, just like the rest of the room.

Then he spoke.

"Not even close." But even Harry knew that the pause, the calmer tone of Riddle's voice, they meant that Riddle was giving permission for someone else to tell him. Slowly, Harry smiled.

"Of course not." Harry didn't like Riddle, but maybe he didn't quite hate him, either.

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

When Harry had been told that the uproar the week before was because it was the anniversary of when Riddle's mother died – that it was his birthday – he wondered what Riddle's life had been like. Maybe Riddle had lived well until his father had pissed him off and he just snapped. Maybe he had been beaten and starved, like Harry. Maybe his father had left, and Riddle had never quite gotten over it. But if that had happened, Riddle would have been put in an orphanage, where he would have been adopted for sure (because Riddle could be damn charming when he wanted to be), so Harry didn't put much stock in that one.

Whatever it was, Harry was curious. But curiosity wouldn't ever be enough to make him delve into someone's personal life when they didn't want it being delved into. He had enough experience with that. So, knowing that there was no point in trying to save up to pay his bills, and knowing that Riddle would probably just laugh at him, anyhow, Harry had bought him a present. He wasn't really sure why he had done it. He just had.

It was nothing big; just a ring. It wasn't made of silver or gold, like the other rings that Harry had seen him wear from time to time, but a cheap metal that had cost harry only $20. The other $15 he had spent was on the inscription on the inside. It was nothing sentimental, simply the words _Tom Marvolo Riddle_. It wasn't something that would show any weakness if Riddle ever decided to wear it (which he probably wouldn't), and Harry had never seen the man wearing any sort of necklace or bracelet, so that was out of the question. Plus, Harry wasn't really sure what the man liked, if he liked anything at all, so there were few options.

Therefore, Riddle was going to get a small black box, no wrapping paper or bows or ribbon, with a ring and a note inside. So, at ten at night on a Saturday, when everyone was bound to be out of the office, Harry used his key to slip in. Harry planned on placing the box in Riddle's desk and letting him discover it whenever.

He didn't plan on Riddle being at the desk, doing paperwork.

Chocolate rubies glanced up when Harry entered, and they didn't go back down. After a moment, Harry took a deep breath. No backing out now.

"Happy birthday." Harry pulled the box out of his jacket pocket and took long strides to get to riddle's desk more quickly. He sat it down on top of the papers that Riddle had obviously been working on, and turned to walk away.

"Stop." The word reverberated in the normally noisy room, and Harry quietly cursed himself for stopping before turning on his heels to face Riddle, who was already reading over the note to himself. Then, to add to the embarrassment, he read it again. Slowly, folding the paper up precisely as Harry had, he took out the ring.

Harry knew the exact moment that Riddle saw the inscription because his eyes flashed and suddenly he was looking at Harry, not the ring.

"What the fuck are you playing at?" And he was ticked. Harry's brows furrowed.

"I'm not playing at anything." He was just trying to be nice.

"Don't play that innocent boy shit with me. What the fuck do you want?" For a minute, Harry stared. After that, he ran a hand through windswept hair and tossed Riddle a small, sad smile.

"Nothing." With that said, Harry turned on his heels and started to walk away. Too bad Riddle was bad at letting him do that. A strong hand gripped his bicep and Harry was swung back around before being pinned against the wall.

"What. Do. You. Want?" Riddle wasn't just ticked. He was furious.

"I told you already. I don't want anything." Nothing Riddle could give him anyway. Nothing he wanted without earning it first.

"Liar." Riddle got closer to him, and fir the first time, Harry smelled it. _Black Suede_. It was a scent that made Harry want to pull Riddle closer. "I won't ask you again." The scotch and chocolate assaulted Harry's senses again, and Riddle was so close that Harry was surprised he hadn't smelled it before.

He wondered if Riddle tasted anything like he smelled.

Scotch and chocolate and _Black Suede_ and musk were things that Harry had never imagined bundled together before, but in that moment he couldn't imagine one without the other. Harry's breath came in and out shakier than he'd intended, making Harry wonder if Riddle could feel how fast his heart was beating, despite the fact that there was clearly nothing for it to speed up over.

"Is it money? Recognition? Drugs?" That, however, snapped Harry out of his trance. "Or do you just like fucking with me?" Riddle's voice was just as dangerous as it was deep. Harry put his hands up to wrap them around Riddle's wrists.

"Believe it or not, Riddle, not everyone has an ulterior motive." Riddle didn't resist when Harry lowered his arms and slipped away, out the door. Harry didn't look back. In fact, the only thing that Harry did besides walk was wonder what it was in his note that could have made his boss react in such a manner. He was still running over it in his head as he drifted off to sleep.

_Dear, Riddle_

_I noticed that no one told you, 'Happy Birthday' or gave you anything, and I get that it's a bad day for you. I have days like that. MY birthday used to be like that. But you have to celebrate it sometime or another, right? Well, either way, here it is. Because you like your name so much._

_Happy Birthday,_

_Harry J. Potter_

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

Harry wasn't surprised when he walked in the next day and Riddle didn't have the ring on any of his fingers. In fact, he would be extremely shocked if Riddle hadn't thrown it all away as soon as Harry had left.

"Hey, guys." He nodded to the random people in the room, sipping on his perfect, preferred brew. It took extra time, making him late, so Harry picked up Riddle's regular, black coffee, too. He waltzed over and sat Riddle's on his desk.

"Hey, Malfoy? Get that stick out of your ass yet?" Harry believed in pleasant conversations starting the day. Blue eyes glared.

"Why? Is it blocking your view when you stalk me?" Malfoy was sneering again; such a difference from the man he was sitting on who managed to make boredom look graceful. Harry smirked.

"Trust me, Malfoy. There's no stick big enough to block that view." And then Harry started the coffee.

"So, you admit you've been looking?" It was a taunt.

"I must have been to stalk you. But don't worry. You're not my type anymore." Harry turned away from the pot with a smile. "I'm more for tall, dark, and not-a-narcissistic-asshole now." Harry looked him up and down. "You flunk on all three counts." It was true. Draco Malfoy was nothing like what Harry found attractive.

Mentally, it was probably someone like Rodolphus.

Physically, well, Harry didn't want to think about that.

Which reminded him…

"Hey, Sirius, how did your date with Rodolphus go last night?" Sirius's face turned red as his jaw dropped.

"It wasn't a date! We just had dinner is all!" Rodolphus looked over at Harry with interest before moving his eyes to Sirius.

"Where'd you go?" Harry was genuinely curious, but he also wanted to prove a point.

Sirius shrugged. "Some expensive place downtown." And Harry's smirk widened to a smile.

"Who paid?" Sirius looked at Harry oddly when the question was asked.

"Rodolphus, but he's the one who invited me out, so it's only fair." With a laugh, Harry responded.

"So, Rodolphus asked you to an upscale restaurant, you agreed, and he paid for your meal. What part of that doesn't sound like a date?" Harry laughed a little more, and Sirius opened his mouth before closing it again, unwilling to say anything else that might incriminate him. Rodolphus, behind his book, gave a smirk that Harry knew was both loving and mocking.

"Don't you have something you need to be doing?" Riddle was clearly still in a bad mood.

"Like what? I balanced the checkbooks, I made your coffee, I cleaned up the office, I checked the accounting, even dropped off your fucking dry-cleaning. What else am I supposed to do?" Harry was partially being sardonic just for the sake of it, but he also wondered just why he was there that day.

Riddle tossed him a set of keys.

"Go wash my car." It was a ridiculous request and everyone in the room knew it. With a snarled curse, Harry turned to go. "Oh, and Potter?" Harry turned once more.

"What now, Riddle?" Riddle's smirk topped Harry's scorn.

"Take Bellatrix with you."

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

"Scared, Potter?" Bellatrix climbed into the driver's seat with a grin, and Harry didn't bother answering her. If she wrecked the Camaro, she'd be forgiven. If Harry wrecked it, he'd be shot. That was just how Riddle worked. "Don't worry. I'm good at this." And then she sped off, weaving in between cars and stopping for red lights only seconds before the line, and Harry thanked God he had his seatbelt on.

"Fucking hell, Bellatrix, slow down!" He was holding onto the panic bar for dear life, but she only cackled more loudly. "You're going to get us pulled over!" If Riddle got a speeding ticket, Bellatrix in the driver's seat or not, Harry knew he would be blamed. She laughed louder and sped up.

Harry closed his eyes until he felt the car come to a complete stop and heard it click into park.

"You're such a baby, Potter? What's the matter, parents never taught you how to have fun?" Her grin was shit-eating. "Oh, wait… Baby Potter's parents died before they could do that!" She laughed harder than before while getting out of the car, an action that Harry couldn't follow fast enough.

"Like yours did so well. At least mine cared for the little bit they could." Harry watched her pay the man standing outside of the car wash with a frown. She turned to him with a growl.

"That's Sirius's fault! My parents always liked him better. They thought he was perfect!" She shoved Harry with less force than she could have, and he knew it was just to make a point. "He doesn't deserve it! He doesn't deserve Rodolphus and he doesn't deserve to have Tom's gorgeous eyes on him or his glorious attention for even a moment!" Her anger was refocused from Harry to Sirius, and Harry wondered why she hated him so much. As far as he knew, her parents had never offered any affection to Sirius.

Then again, she was crazy.

Pretty much everyone in that damn office was.

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

"What the hell is this?" Harry slammed a file folder onto Riddle's desk. He didn't think they were anywhere near friends, but Harry hadn't expected such an invasion of privacy. He had thought Riddle was above that.

"It's a background check." There was no shame in Riddle's voice, just a dare for Harry to push the subject. Dare accepted.

"Yes. A background check on _me_. If I wanted you to know my past, I would have fucking told you!" Harry had read through it. All Riddle had been able to dig up was from the time he had entered high school onward, but it was the principle of the matter!

"Harry, it's just a precaution. You can't be too cautious—" Harry interrupted Rodolphus with a snarl.

"No. No the fuck it isn't!" He turned back to Riddle, who was still sitting calmly in his chair. "I've allowed you to mess with my life for too long! I don't care if you insult me every five minutes or invade my personal space and I can even deal with getting evicted from my apartment because you take up all the time that I could be using to work at a _paying_ job—" Sirius interrupted Harry.

"You don't pay him?" He sounded incredulous , but Harry barely noticed him.

"—but I refuse to give up my privacy! You hear me, Riddle? I quit!" Harry turned to walk away, through with Tom Riddle and everything that had to do with him, but Riddle wasn't ready to accept that. The taller man was up and grabbing Harry's arm in an instant.

"I didn't tell you that you could quit." Riddle was trying to control him.

"I didn't fucking ask!" Harry proceeded to sucker punch Riddle in the jaw before turning and walking away. He made it outside the office before he realized that, for the first time, Riddle had followed.

"Don't walk away from me, Potter!" The door slammed behind Riddle, and no one dared to follow him out. Harry pressed the elevator button without turning around. Riddle took the liberty of doing that for him.

"What? What is it? What part of _I quit_ don't you get?" Harry knew he was yelling. He was angry and he didn't care. The elevator doors dinged open, and Riddle slammed him against the wall of the elevator without hesitation.

"The part where _you_ come in." Riddle was too close again, but this time he wasn't letting Harry push him away. "I never understand a damn thing when it comes to you, and you're not going to stop me from learning." Riddle refused to stop looking at Harry, who was busy watching the elevator doors close.

_Ding._

They were officially alone.

"Riddle—" but Harry couldn't finish his sentence through the pair of lips trying to devour his own.

Kissing Riddle was nothing like kissing anyone else Harry had met. Riddle didn't ask permission to deepen it by licking Harry's lips, just forced his tongue in and started mapping out the inside of Harry's mouth. Riddle's calloused hands were large and talented as one slipped into Harry's hair to angle him the way Riddle wanted and the other went under Harry's shirt. It was so fierce that Harry couldn't help but respond, putting just as much force into the kiss as Riddle as he pushed back, his arms behind Riddle's neck as he forced his own tongue into the older man's mouth and reversed their positions so that Riddle was the one with his back to the wall instead.

"F-fuck—" Harry wasn't sure which one of them had cursed as he was flipped again, and Harry felt the hand leave his shirt to tug on the edge of Harry's pants instead.

"_Just shut up, Freak! You'll get everything you deserve!" _

Harry's eyes snapped open and he shoved Riddle away. The taller man was breathing just as heavily as Harry, his eyes clouded with lust, based on irritation and dabbed with question.

"I—I quit, Riddle." He refused to rethink it. He refused to think at all.

_Ding._

Harry's time with Riddle was up, and he was determined never to let it start again.


	5. Shades of Blue

_**Author's Note:**_ _Read away, lovelies! I adore your comments and thank you for the support!_

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ (Insert some sort of witty, funny statement here that means it isn't mine)_

Tom Riddle hated that he could still taste Harry on his lips. He hated that Draco didn't taste like Harry did, and hated that the boy wasn't as witty or brilliant or interesting as Harry. He hated that when he fucked Draco, Harry was who he was thinking of. Tom didn't like needing substitutes. He didn't like wanting Harry like hell on fire and didn't like that he didn't know everything about the boy.

Most of all, however, he didn't like losing.

Harry Potter wasn't getting away if Tom could help it. And he could. He could do anything he wanted without anyone stopping him, a feat he had proved many times before. He would smell the cheap coffee and fresh hazelnut that was Harry Potter again and not even God would stand in his way. Tom looked up from his thoughts as the door slammed open, and Draco pulled himself away from Tom's neck, which Tom found was actually becoming annoying.

Tom could honestly say he hadn't been expecting Dudley Dursley to be standing in the doorway.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" The words were whispered, but they were livid, and all motion in the room stopped. No one answered him because everyone knew the question was directed at Tom, and Tom felt no inclination to respond to the fool. "You dug into his past, didn't you? He pushed you away and you tried to find out more, right?" His voice slowly raised to a normal tone, but his eyes refused to look at anyone but Tom. "He quit his job at the café and got evicted from his apartment and the only thing he attends is class, but I can never catch him. The only damn reason he would avoid me is if someone brought up his past!" He was pissed off, and Tom hated the fact that he knew Harry well enough to pinpoint what was wrong without Harry speaking to him.

"And what if I did?" He wanted to know about the green eyed boy. That was all there was to it.

"Then you're a fucking asshole and if you ever see him again, you need to stay away." The sneer was all he was willing to give, and he did the same thing that Harry constantly did: he turned his back on Tom to walk away.

"And what if I don't?" His voice stopped Dursley dead in his tracks, but unlike Harry, the man seemed to have more control. He started moving again; farther away.

"That's right. Run away like a coward. Just like Potter." Bellatrix's words seemed to get a rise out of him though as he swung around to face the room.

"I know you're _gangsters_ or something like that—mafia, the mob, who _cares_—but Harry was never afraid of you. Any of you." Dursley put emphasis on 'any' while pointedly looking at Tom. "That's because Harry's already been through hell and back. There is nothing you can do to him short of putting a bullet between his eyes that I don't doubt he hasn't already experienced." Tom's interest was perked at that, but the man didn't go into detail about Harry's hell. "Now, do everyone a favor and stay the fuck away." That time, when he turned to walk away, there was nothing that could have stopped him from leaving.

"God, that prick has problems. If he actually thinks that _Potter_ had a hard life—" Draco started his usual tangent, but Sirius interrupted him.

"You think that you know what a hard life is? Your father may not pay the most attention to you, but you've got a loving mother and want for nothing. That boy—I don't know what happened to him, but his eyes say that Dudley isn't lying." Tom took a moment to notice that Sirius had called Dursely 'Dudley' instead, meaning that they'd spent more time together than what Tom had.

"Like hell! You're just standing up for Potter because you want to fuck him more than you do Rodolphus!" Draco actually stood from his preferred spot on Tom's lap to bark at Sirius. He was getting bold.

He thought Tom would back him up.

Sirius stood, too. "Hey now, I may not want to be married to this bastard, but he's still my best friend, and I'm the only damn person who can even hint at insulting him! Now, get back in your place before I put you there!" He was, understandably, pissed off. Sirius may not give Rodolphus the satisfaction of sex, but in every other way, they lived out the marriage that Rodolphus had tricked Sirius into. Rodolphus had sheltered Sirius when he had broken out of Askaban all those years ago, and Sirius hadn't yet gotten around to moving out. They had each other's backs at all hours of the day and night.

"You can't do anything to me." The words were confidently snarled by Draco, and Sirius glanced over to Tom, asking for permission. Tom leaned back lazily, giving Sirius the go-ahead.

Tom was finished with Draco Malfoy and, as far as he was concerned, Harry Potter was about to take his place.

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

Draco couldn't believe that Tom hadn't stood up for him. He had been completely humiliated in front of everyone in that room, and it was all Potter's fault. Somehow, some way, it was his fault. Everything had been going smoothly until the boy had shown up. His sexed-up black hair and fiery green eyes that begged to be dominated had vexed Tom right out from under Draco. What neither of them seemed to realize was that Draco was a _Malfoy_, and Malfoys always got what they wanted.

Not even Harry Potter would stand in his way.

"Speak of the fucking devil." The words were whispers under Draco's breath. "Stop the car!" His chauffer immediately slammed on the breaks. "Drive around the block. I'll call you when I'm ready to be picked up." With nothing else in mind, he stepped out of the limousine and slammed the door shut behind him. The noise, so different from the quiet, deserted streets that always made an appearance at this time of night – or morning, depending on one's perspective - woke Harry Potter from his slumber on the park bench.

"You! This is all your fucking fault!" Draco's father had always told him not to curse, explaining that it made him seem unrefined, but the words always slipped through when he was angry.

Hazy green eyes blinked slowly, allowing for a fairly long pause before Potter finally responded with a dumb, "What?"

A word that was just as unrefined as Draco's curses.

"Don't play dumb with me, Potter! I know you were working to seduce Tom every second you could! I know you did it just to spite me!" The thought had only just occurred to him, but if Draco had said it than it must be true. Potter must have seduced Tom to get back at Draco for lying about the stalking. After all, Malfoys were never wrong.

Potter sat up. "Like hell I did. I never did a single thing with–" he paused for a second, clearly unsure what to say next before continuing on, "with that damnable bastard." The end of his sentence had lost some of its conviction, and Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Why the hell would I believe that crock of shit, Potter? Tom never claimed that we were exclusive. Just that I was his." Draco hated that his voice was shaking. He hated that he had truly started to care for Tom, and hated that Tom hadn't so much as batted an eyelash when throwing him out. "So, tell me. Why the fuck should I believe that he didn't do anything with you?" Why should he believe that Tom had ever cared about him?

Potter stood from his spot on the bench. "You should believe me because I'm telling the truth." He held out a hand, clearly an offer of peace; something to comfort Draco with. It was kindness.

It was pity.

"Fuck you." The words made him feel better. They made him feel like he was strong enough to take control of his own life and like his father had no say in what he did. They made him feel like he could accept Potter's words as the truth that the green-eyed boy was assuring him they were.

"No, thanks." But there was a light smile on Potter's lips, and Draco could feel a mirror of that smile forming on his own.

"It wasn't an offer." But it had been. It had been an unknowing offer of peace, and Potter had accepted. Accepted an offer that Draco hadn't realized he was putting out.

"Well, you've seen how well I deal with demands." At that, Draco rolled his eyes.

"Don't push your luck, Potter. Just because I'm not kicking your ass right now doesn't mean I'm not pissed at you." After all, Draco was pissed at something, and Potter was still his best outlet. The other man laughed, and for the first time since he had stepped out of the vehicle, Draco noted just how little he could see. "How can you stand sleeping out here?" Draco needed complete and total darkness – something that wasn't completely given thanks to the street lights in the far distance and the moon shining brightly in the sky – along with a controlled temperature and silence to fall asleep.

Potter shrugged. "It's not so bad." Something that Draco would never be able to believe. What alternatives were worse than being homeless?

Before Draco could voice his disbelief, he saw a large figure move behind Potter, and pain exploded in the back of his head.

Draco didn't even have time to curse.

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

Draco's eyes snapped open as he heard something crash beside of him.

"What the—" but Draco couldn't think of what he had been about to say through the horror he was feeling well up within him. Both he and Potter were in a caged room that he had passed by many times before on his way to the fights. It was used only once every three months as a way to give the more brutish watchers something to cheer for. If a member of a different group didn't watch his or her back, she or he was likely to be captured and put in the cage. Usually, the weaker members that never fought were taken, and usually the winner of the match got to keep the loser.

Draco's breath started coming in shakily. He couldn't be in this situation. He couldn't fight! Even with Potter – which was another rarity, as only one person was usually taken – by his side, he was screwed. His only real hope would be to bargain with who they would be fighting to take Potter instead, but why would he or she have the mongrel when the purebred was being offered up for the same price?

He was going to die.

A hand gently placed itself on Draco's shoulder, making the blonde jump. Potter cocked a brow at him, clearly not realizing the danger they were in. God, why did the green eyed man have to be so dim? Why couldn't he be afraid like a normal person?

"Where are we?" Potter's body language was calm, but his eyes were critical. He wanted to know what Draco knew.

"You two are in your worst nightmare." The voice came from outside of the cage, and Draco immediately recognized the man speaking as Blaise Zabini. He owned the club and ran the fights. "I'm not sure who got up the balls to take Riddle's toys, but they did, and that means you guys are about to fight." His deep brown eyes weren't kind, but they weren't malicious either, and Draco remembered having a crush on the Italian boy when they were in high school.

"Got any advice?" Draco's laugh to go along with the question was shaky, and he wished he could sound as cocky as his father had always told him to be. Blaise stared down at him for a long moment before moving his eyes to look at Potter. When he finally spoke, he was keeping eye contact with Draco again.

"If you want my advice, take whatever dignity you have left and toss it out the window. The guy you're about to fight is rough, and if you want to get out of there with nothing but a few broken bones, you should be prepared to beg." There was something in Baise's voice that told Draco he was being completely honest, and Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't bear to look into his once-friend's any longer.

"What about—" Potter was interrupted by a shout from a door that they couldn't see.

"Time to go!" The automatic door clicked open at the words, and Draco felt himself tense up even more, if possible. Blaise swung open the door with ease, watching them like animals that were about to get put down. Potter 's hand went from Draco's shoulder to his hand, and the older man was pulled up. The warmth of another person immediately left Draco's immediate vicinity, and he felt his breath hitch. There, in their normal spot, was Tom, Sirius, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix. They were staring at Draco like Draco was staring and them, and Potter was—

Draco turned forward to see Potter climb effortlessly into the rink, not a shred of apprehension on his features or in his body language. Quickly, Draco followed in his footsteps, staying as close to the other man as he could. A deep booming laughter made him go closer than he had meant to, but Potter didn't move away. If anything, he stood even straighter as a large man that clearly made use of the gym offered to him stepped into the rink.

"Well, well, well… What do we have here?" He had shaggy blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. If it weren't for where they were, Draco would think this was a nice man; one that he wouldn't think twice about asking for directions from in the bad part of town. The man offered a dazzling smile. "You two are actually a little old for my tastes, but I can try and make an acception." His entire being was deceptive. Potter, being the idiot that he was, actually responded.

"How young?" His voice was forceful, demanding the older man's attention. Hell, he was demanding the attention of everyone in the room. The man's grin turned to a lusty smile.

"Six or seven is preferable, but I'm met some small ten year olds before." The malice mixed with the lust, and Draco found himself subconsciously gripping onto the back of Potter's shirt. "And as I said before, I can probably make an exception for you two. After all, you're both very pretty boys." Nausea welled up in Draco's stomach as the meaning of his words finally hit home. Potter, however seemed unperturbed.

No, he was wrong. Potter had actually lost some of his tension. The black haired boy moved a hand through windswept locks before turning his head to look at Draco.

"Malfoy, would you mind if I fight him alone?" Blue eyes widened. The blonde haired man laughed.

But Draco hadn't heard wrongly. Potter was offering him an out. He was willing to take all the pain and punishment on his own. He was willing to let Draco run away like the coward he was, leaving Potter to fend for himself.

And who was Draco to deny him that?

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

Tom watched Harry with more interest than was healthy while Draco ran from the rink as fast as possible. He ran over to the only place he felt halfway safe, which was by Tom's side, but the mafia leader paid him no heed. Harry's body language was practically languid as he examined Alek, who seemed just as excited by the obvious defiance as Tom was.

"Would you mind making a bet with me?" Harry sounded polite, but there was something malevolent hidden in his voice. Alek took a step closer, obviously interested.

"What bet would that be?" It was unorthodox to speak so much before a fight, but there was no urge to interrupt them.

"If I win, you never touch another child." Alek scoffed at Harry's words.

"And if I win?" But Harry's response was a simple shrug and three words that made Tom's jealousy flare.

"Whatever you want." To couldn't see Harry's face, but by the grin on Alek's, Tom knew that the terms were accepted.

And then Alek was moving. He rushed forward, mixed martial arts fighting style familiar to Tom's eyes. Harry didn't even attempt to move as Alek's fist connected with his gut. The younger man fell to his knees, no doubt gasping for breath, but as kind as Alek looked, he showed no mercy. Immediately after Harry's knees hit the floor, Alek's hand was lifting him up by the collar of his shirt.

In a way, it pissed Tom off that someone was touching what was his. In another, larger way, Tom thought Harry deserved some humiliation. He needed to be put in his place and realize that clinging to Tom was his only chance at survival.

"What's the matter? I thought you'd have more fight in you than that!" Alek loved tormenting those weaker than him. It was why he targeted children for his sexual exploits. Harry coughed in response, a bit of blood leaking from the edge of his lips.

"I do." And then his hands reached up to wrap around Alek's wrist. The next thing Tom knew, Harry had been let go, and it was Alek who was sinking to his knees. "I just wanted to see what kind of force you exerted on those _children_." A snap finished the sentence, and by the sound of Alek's voice, it was his wrist. "That's for the pain you caused those kids."

Harry's fist slammed itself into Alek's face, forcing him to fall backwards in an awkward position, unsure of whether to grip his face or his hand.

"That's for all of the lives you've ruined." Harry stepped over towards Alek while the man rushed to his feet, no longer taking Harry lightly. "And this?" Harry stopped, his body no more tense than when he had practically waltzed into the rink. "This is just because I'm in a bad mood." Alek moved to hit Harry, but not before Harry dealt a number of quick blows to Alek's stomach. The assault was followed by Harry delivering a roundhouse kick to the side of Alek's head and flipping him onto his stomach. Harry positioned his foot on the back of Alek's neck before grabbing ahold of his unharmed arm and twisting it upwards.

"Fu—"

"Move and I'll put more pressure on your neck." The struggling suddenly stopped, and Tom watched with bloodthirsty anticipation to see what Harry would do. He wanted to know if he would actually go through with paralyzing Alek. Slowly, the blonde man's broken hand reached out and lightly touched the floor a few times.

"I tap out." There was real fear in his voice. Harry didn't let go.

"Answer me one question first." The arm was twisted more, and Harry's left foot moved more toward Alek's back than his neck. "Did you stop when those children _tapped out_?" The question was calm, but there was a fire in his voice. And then Harry put all of his weight on Alek and used his right foot to crash against the awkwardly placed arm.

_Snap._

Blood spurted onto the floor; onto Harry, but he ignored it. He ignored the screaming and the shock and even the laughter coming from his audience in favor of letting go of the ruined appendage and kneeling next to Alek's face.

"Remember your end of the bet, and know that if you go back on it, you'll never walk again." With that said, he stood and stepped out of the rink.

"That's not possible! You're just some stray Riddle picked up off of the streets!" The incredulous shouts came from Pansy Parkinson, one of Alek's lackies, but Harry didn't bother turning to face her.

"Maybe I have rabies." Maybe he just wasn't what he appeared to be.

"Get back to the office. You know your duties." Tom dismissed his crew as easily as that, and quickly followed Harry out of the back exit.

Harry reached the alley before Tom caught up to him, but as soon as the younger man was I reach, Harry's arm – well-toned and tense, just as Tom remembered – was in his grasp. He swung the boy around and, before Harry could say a word, smashed their lips together. It was rushed and needy with the taste of Alek's blood bringing out Tom's more carnal side, making him nip at Harry's lips possessively, and Tom was sure no kiss had ever been more satisfying.

Harry's fingers made use of Tom's shirt for a good moment, one where Harry was responding just as fiercely as Tom, before the murderer was pushed away. The fingers didn't untangle themselves; Tom's only reason for allowing Harry to keep him at arm's length.

"Come live with me." For a second, Tom was just as stunned as Harry. He hadn't planned on having a house-guest anytime soon. Yet, the thought of having Harry in his home wasn't a bad one, and he could always shove him back into the streets as soon as he became bored of the green eyed firecracker. Harry's eyes narrowed in (understandable) suspicion.

"Fuck you." It was a refusal that Tom had been expecting, but he had always adored a good challenge. Swiftly, he grasped Harry's wrist and pinned them to the brick wall behind the other male.

"Don't be stupid, Harry. You don't have a place to live, and I'm offering you a home. You don't have a job, and I'm offering you full pay to come back." Tom took advantage of how much taller he was as he pressed his body against Harry's, sliding his knee between Harry's legs. "I won't even press about your past." He would be curious, yes, but Harry was sure to cave given enough time, and Tom could think of plenty of things that could occupy them while they waited.

"Like hell." Harry tried to free himself, but Tom kept him pinned firmly to the wall. "If I wanted to be someone's sex toy, I'd have lost to the blonde inside. Now get the fuck off of me!" He had the element of surprise with Alek. Tom would never be that easy.

"I promise you that _when_ I fuck you, you'll be begging for it. Before that point in time, you'll stay the innocent little virgin you are now." It was a guess, but by the way his eyes widened , Tom knew he had hit the nail on the head.

"If you're going to insist on holding me captive until I agree to live with you then you'd better get comfortable because it's _never_ going to happen!" Their foreheads touched, and Harry bared his canines, clearly ready to throttle Tom. The older man grinned back, showing off his own, perfectly straight teeth.

"_Never say never."_

_**(***Iridescent***)**_

There is no fucking way you can keep me here! This is kidnapping!" Tom didn't bother looking up from his book as Harry shouted at him.

"Yes, I can. The only two people who keep track of you are Dudley Dursley, who thinks you're avoiding him, and Cedric Diggory, who has no idea that you work for me. Besides, do you really think that I can get away with murder and not kidnapping?" Heidegger had always been one of Tom's favorite authors, but it was hard to pay attention to the words on the page with a beautiful, tempting man begging for his attention.

"What the hell would possess you to knock me out, take me to wherever the hell we are—" Tom interrupted the rant—

"My home." And Harry continued on—

"—take me to your home, and keep me here?" He was absolutely livid, and that made Tom want him all the more.

"Harry, you're the one who suggested that if I want to keep you captive until you agree – which I do – then I should get comfortable – which I am." For a good minute, Harry didn't say a word, something which made Tom curious enough to look up. Green eyes were staring at him dumbly.

"I didn't mean it like that, and you know it." They seemed to be at the point where Harry knew he wouldn't escape without giving something in return.

"You have no idea what I know." He knew that something had happened between Harry, Dursley, and Harry's uncle. He knew that Harry had been abused in some shape, form, or fashion at some point in time. What he didn't know was where Harry's parents came into the picture or how Dursley fit into anything.

"I don't care what you know." Oh, but he did. Harry was too curious for his own good.

"You will." Tom wasn't someone who could be ignored.

"Look, class starts in an hour, and I really need to get going, so can we continue this at a later date?" Harry edged towards the only door in the room. The door currently being blocked by Tom.

"Hogwarts is twenty minutes away by foot, and five by car. It's a much better positioning than your last place." Harry blinked at the information, clearly not swayed.

"I don't mind walking." He was determined not to budge. Tom flipped a page in his book.

"I'm offering you free room and board, a high paying job where some days you don't do a damn thing, and protection from the underworld, who's obviously going to be after you whether you're connected to me or not. You would have to be stupid not to accept." Harry opened his mouth to object, and Tom cocked a brow, fully prepared to rebut whatever he was going to say.

"If I say no, you back off, okay?" Harry sounded unsure, and Tom felt the blood rush to his groin.

"Of course." Tom was wearing a smirk that Satan himself would run from, but Harry didn't seem to notice.

"And you won't dig into my past?" It was with almost childlike innocence that Harry was asking the questions.

"Not unless you want me to." This is always Tom's favorite part.

"Fine," Harry hesitated for only a second, "you've got yourself a deal."

The part where he wins.


	6. Shades of Indigo

_**Author's Note:**_ Um, I'm not sure how long the black-out is supposed to last, but I feel awkward not writing…

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Um, how about no?_

"Harry! Harry, where did you learn to fight like that?" Sirius was nowhere near leaving Harry alone about his (admittedly brutal) fight.

"Just an old friend. You don't know him." Harry hated talking about his days learning to fight. It hurt too much to think about the friends he had lost.

"Now, I know I look devastatingly young, but I've been around the block quite a few times now. I know pretty much everyone." His smile was smugly charming, and Harry couldn't help but smile.

"I don't doubt that, but I stayed with him for a good year when I was younger and he's not the kind of person that you would avoid seeing for a prolonged period of time." Harry, truthfully, just hated talking about his past.

"Well, I was in prison for a long while, so that could be it. Now tell me!" Sirius looked excited, and for just a moment, Harry hated that the man could be so carefree despite what he'd been through. After that moment, Harry answered.

"Lupin. Remus Lupin." The name was a wonderful thing that made Harry wish he was in a warm living room and Remus would look up from his desk where he was grading papers just to smile at Harry. The room froze.

"Moony?" Harry blinked at the word, but Sirius stepped away from Rodolphus to get closer to Harry. "You stayed with Moony?" There was a sort of desperate awe in his voice.

"If Moony is a nickname of Remus's, then yes. I did." Without warning, Harry was pulled into a bone-crushing hug.

"Please, can you tell me about it?" Sirius pulled back, the amazement and hope in his eyes more in depth than Harry had ever seen before. Slowly, Harry shrugged out of his grasp.

"I—" Harry meant to tell Sirius that he was sorry, but he couldn't. He meant to find a way to get out of the conversation altogether. Instead, he said, "I met him when I was thirteen. I had been through a… rough time, and he gave me chocolate. We were instant friends." He had been going through gang territory, and a few of the gang members (Dementors, they called themselves) hadn't taken lightly to that. Apparently they had been doing something which Harry, to this day, wasn't entirely sure of the nature of, and they had thought that Harry had seen. Just as their reputations said, they had taken him to a dark, cold room where it felt almost as though there was no hope left in the world.

Remus had saved him.

Sirius stared for a moment, waiting for more, but when it became apparent that Harry was finished, the man smiled, his bark of a laugh coming out.

"Of course he gave you chocolate! Moony believed that chocolate was the answer to everything!" And Harry, knowing this quite well, smiled back.

"That's because it is." Harry, himself, was a chocolate addict. And Remus was to blame. Well, Remus and the Dursleys.

"Do you take us for fools, Potter?" Bellatrix was clearly not amused. "You allowed us to think that you were a defenseless little boy when, in reality, you fight like a monster." She snarled at him. "And you mention that damnable wolf like his death wasn't a favor to the world!" Bellatrix clearly didn't like Remus, and Harry barely stopped his hand from twitching towards the pistol he knew was hidden under Rodolphus's coat.

"He was a great man." Harry's voice didn't shake.

"He was just as worthless as my useless cousin is and as his sniveling rat of a friend is, and especially their useless leader. Maybe you know him, too? Ickle _James Potter_?" Potter was a common name, so there was no question as to why no one connected it, but a rage flared up in Harry that took his years of control almost completely away. Instead, Harry responded with an indifferent tone and a simple shrug.

"Never heard of him." Harry loved his parents dearly, and it killed him not to just start shooting off questions about them, about the ones he never truly got to know, or even just start shooting, to make sure that Bellatrix never spoke coarsely of his loved ones again, but he restrained. "Now back off. If I wanted your judgment, I'd hand you a gun." Because they all knew what she wanted to do to him. Bellatrix laughed coarsely.

"I have my own gun, brat. I don't need yours." As if to prove her point, she lifted her long, black coat tail to reveal a gun strapped to her waist. Harry didn't bat a lash before turning to his so-called boss.

"Riddle, when did you start giving your dogs such dangerous toys?" It was a light question that held no tone of resentment or anything else, and that was what got to Bellatrix. And Harry knew it.

"I'm not a fucking dog, you insolent brat! I've spent more years in prison than you've been alive and they were all well-deserved! Now, you may have been able to defeat that idiotic man in the ring, but you're no match for me!" She was seething at being insulted in front of Riddle, and Harry couldn't stop the smile that cracked his lips at the successful ploy of drawing their conversation away from his parents and Remus.

"If you say so." It didn't matter to him whether he would win or lose against her. She wasn't the enemy just yet. Hermione laughed at the nonchalant way he handled things and hooked her arm in Ron's.

"Does nothing scare you, Harry?" A lot of images that had nothing to do with Hermione's kind smile flashed before his eyes. Guns being shot. Knives carving at his face. His parents' bodies hitting the floor with a dull thump. His uncle. The cupboard under the stairs. The thought of being found out as The-Boy-Who-Lived.

"No." He was such a liar. "Nothing at all." But then, so was everyone else in the room.

"Not even death?" Draco questioned him disbelievingly, probably feeling a need to insert himself into the conversation in hopes of finding out how he fit into the group now that he wasn't fucking Riddle. That question, Harry didn't have to lie to answer.

"Especially not death." He would welcome death with open arms when the time came. "Now, I'm in serious need of some lunch. I'll see you guys later." Not like he had much of a choice. But if there was one thing that he'd found out, it was that Riddle's house had everything a guy could dream of, including a stock of fresh ingredients. It was only his second day there. Harry was allowed to be in awe for a little while longer.

"Harry, you know you can always talk to us, right?" Ron wasn't normally the sentimental type, but he was clearly concerned. The master strategist had most likely caught on to the fact that he had been aiming to change the subject and run. Harry smiled and nodded, but didn't verbally respond.

Lying was a bad habit, after all.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Draco hated that not even his step mother had noticed that he had gone missing. He was handsome, smart, rich, and popular, yet no one cared. Not nearly as much as they cared for Potter, anyhow. He was sure Narcissa would have noticed had she not been on vacation with his father at the time. His beautiful step mother was actually how he had met Tom, Bellatrix being her sister and all.

"Why do you think he left in such a rush?" Sirius was honestly confused, and Draco hated that people cared for Potter the moment he left while it took them a good while to even notice that Draco was gone.

"_Now, Draco, if you're always running off to God-knows-where then someday something will happen to you and we'll just assume you're out and about until it's too late."_

His real mother had warned him about this, but he had figured that she was just being a worried mother. How stupid of him.

"I think he knew that we would keep pressing if he didn't leave." Granger had a point, but Potter obviously had no problem with confrontation, either.

"I think it doesn't matter. If he wants to storm off like a child, let him." Bellatrix wanted him gone, no matter how it was that he left the picture. That much was obvious.

"You may not like that Harry and Tom aren't at each other's throats quite as much, but that's no reason to be insulting him behind his back." Hermione was always the voice of fucking reason. Why couldn't she just shut her mouth and let the arguments proceed?

"Speaking of such, why aren't you two at each other's throats anymore?" Rodolphus completely left the conversation behind, and the group had no choice but to follow along. Tom, as per usual, took his time to answer.

"I just want to put the puzzle pieces together before I throw it away is all." The answer was more information than Draco had expected to get, and the relief that washed through his system was more than real.

Tom wasn't interested in Potter. He just wanted to solve a puzzle. Draco still had his chance.

"Be careful when you toss him, okay?" Sirius had taken a lower tone of voice than normal, and the real care he had for Potter showed. Tom simply shrugged, and Draco felt himself smile, despite everything.

He may not have much of a chance, but at least he knew that Potter was just going to be used and tossed away, too.

"We'll be there to help him up afterwards." Rodolphus placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder in comfort, and Draco couldn't help but marvel at how their loyalty towards Tom completely overcame their care for Potter. No one could be considered the man's equal. If Tom told Rodolphus and Sirius to fight to the death, there was a good chance the two would only hesitate for a moment.

"So, who were the people you were talking about earlier? Remus Lupin and James Potter, I mean." Hermione was as eager to learn as ever, and Draco scoffed but stayed silent. He refused to show it, but curiosity had always been an itch he couldn't resist scratching. Sirius smiled.

"When I was a student at Hogwarts, back when it was a boarding school instead of a college, I had a group of friends. They were Remus, James, and Peter, and we called ourselves The Marauders."

**(***Iridescent***)**

"…The Marauders." Harry's ears perked up as he entered the room, a sandwich in hand. His father had used that term a long time ago to describe his friends, only he had called them—

"We all had nicknames, too. Remmy was Moony, Peter was Wormtail, I was Padfoot, and James was Prongs. We got into more mischief than you can imagine under James's careful planning; even made a map of the entire campus! Well, Moony did, anyhow. All James did was come up with the idea. Well, that and use it to hit on Lily Evans." Harry nearly dropped his sandwich at the mention of his mother's name. They had all went to school together?

"Why are you so bent on telling stupid stories from the past? All your friends are dead, and that's that!" Sirius stopped talking with a frown, and Harry had the urge to hit her. His dad had never told the story of how they met.

"Just because you don't have any friends doesn't mean I don't enjoy remembering mine." His words were bitter and condescending. Harry walked over to where the group was still standing and took a sip of his favorite drink, washing down the last of his sandwich.

"She's just being a bitch, Sirius. Don't pay her any attention." Ron knew what it was like to lose loved ones. He also loved talking about the good times.

"Oh, because the Weasel is one to talk about keeping his temper in check." Draco spoke as though he was back under Tom's protection, and Harry, tired of the day, moved to go balance the checkbook. Riddle's voice stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Harry didn't bother turning.

"Wherever the hell I feel like." All he ever did was run errands for Riddle anyhow. It wasn't like he could really do anything else.

"Why don't you do what I feel like, instead?" For a moment, Harry mistook the tone as suggestive, but then he brushed it off as Riddle's blatant air of sexuality. Harry, without missing a beat, turned his head and grinned.

"That would be too easy, wouldn't it?"

Harry turned back to the checkbook too quickly to see Riddle's eyes narrow calculatingly.

Poor boy.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Tom didn't know how Harry managed to tease him while maintaining his air of innocence. The contradiction was simply ridiculous. A real turn-on, yes, but ridiculous nonetheless. A person shouldn't be able to seem like he could satisfy a man's every whim whilst learning the tools of the trade. But that was how Harry seemed.

Tom could picture those large green eyes widening when Tom would first reveal himself. There would be fear mixed in with awe and desire, and the younger man wouldn't be able to resist taking Tom into his mouth. That sweet, sardonic mouth that taunted Tom like nothing else. He wouldn't be able to deep throat yet, but his small hands would wrap around Tom's engorged cock and Harry's lips would eventually detatch from the head with a light pop. Harry wouldn't be the best at anything, but he would learn quickly. Every time, whether slow and drawn out or quick and heavy, would be just as fierce and passionate as the last. And, most importantly, Harry would scream Tom's name.

At least, that was what Tom imagined. He knew that, in reality, it wouldn't be like that. Harry would probably stumble through their first time, too shy to do anything that Tom really wanted, and the more experienced he would get, the more Tom would become bored of him. That was how reality worked.

"Hey, how do you do that without a calculator?" Sirius had left the crowd that had gathered around Tom's desk to get to Harry, who simply kept working.

"I like numbers." Tom only liked numbers when they were in his favor, but Harry rarely ever adhered to what Tom liked.

"What's your major, anyhow?" What was Harry's major? He was only a sophomore, and Hogwarts didn't require them to declare a major until the end of their sophomore year, so it hadn't been in the background check. There was so much Tom didn't know about the younger man.

Despite his main interest being in Harry's body, he found himself listening intently to the answer for the man's major, as well. It was crazy: just how much he actually had a (small) interest in learning.

"I'm majoring in social work. I want to help the kids." Of course his goal was to help someone. Harry was too nice to be aiming for anything else.

"Like the kid you knew?" The dead one, Tom assumed. Harry smiled dashingly.

"Kind of. I want to help them long before they get to that point." There was a pause. "And I want the caregivers to pay for what they've done." Ron stepped in before Sirius could say a word.

"You mean that kid's parents never got in trouble?" Harry shrugged in response to the inquiry.

"If they paid, it wasn't for what they did to him." The checkbook shut and Harry stood before anyone else could ask questions. "I'm going to go get some homework finished. I'll see you guys later." He left the room without another word.

But he would see Tom later that night.

Harry couldn't escape anymore.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry was proud of himself when he stood from the seat in the deserted classroom, finished with his essay. He expected to finish the rest of his work tomorrow. He expected a nice journey to his temporary housing at Riddle's place once he left the room.

He didn't expect to see Dudley in the doorway.

"Harry, I'm sorry that they brought up your past, and I've told you again and again that I'm sorry for everything I did to you, but please stop avoiding me." Dudley had come to seek him out, and Harry was just glad that it wasn't at his place of work again. Harry moved to speak to Dudley, but he couldn't find his voice. He had forgiven Dudley, yes, but that didn't mean he was quite ready to face the man yet. "Harry, I didn't do anything wrong this time! Stop giving me the cold shoulder!" He was frightened and angry and frustrated and Harry didn't have a chance at getting him to back off. Slowly, Harry ran a hand through windswept locks.

"You're right. I'm sorry." What else could he say? "I'll stop avoiding you." There was really nothing else.

"No, I want you to tell me what's been going on. Why are you so wishy-washy about everything?" Dudley didn't want to be confused any longer. Harry frowned.

"That's my business. Not yours." He hated it when people pried. No matter who they were.

"Don't brush me off this time, Harry." Dudley gripped Harry's bicep. Green eyes snapped up to meet blue.

"Don't do something you'll regret, Dudley. You know very well that blood means nothing to me." It stopped meaning anything in the darkness of a cupboard, and that was never going to change.

"I know, but…" But he wasn't going to give up.

"Go home. You don't belong here." Here as in the college. Here as in Harry's life-style choices. Here as in wherever Harry felt like being that Dudley wasn't. Dudley belonged in a nice, white-picket-fenced house. Blue eyes narrowed.

"And you _do_? You're no gangster, Harry! You're not a murderer!" Harry sighed.

"How would you know?" Dudley hadn't been there for the last eight years.

"Because you let my dad live." Harry stiffened.

The last time Dudley had seen Harry before he left, the younger, starving boy had a loaded gun pointed at his uncle's head. His hand hadn't been shaking and his eyes had been unfeeling.

Harry quickly forced himself to relax.

"Get this straight, Dudley. I let him live because I don't enjoy blood on my hands, not because I'm kind." A lie. He let Vernon live because Dudley had walked downstairs, and Harry couldn't bear to give the teen anything close to the same last memory he had of his parents.

He was kind.

But letting Dudley know that would do him no good.

"I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. And when my time here ends, I'll find somewhere else I'm supposed to be. Just like I always do." Sometimes, people realized that Harry was extremely empathetic. Sometimes, people called him heartless. This time, Harry didn't want Dudley to say anything. He just wanted the older man to turn and walk away.

"Harry…" Why couldn't people just adhere to his wishes for once? "Please don't hate me." Harry didn't hate Dudley, but he didn't feel like clarifying that, either.

"Go home." That's what Harry was doing. And not even the past would stand in his way.

**(***Iridescent***)**

When Tom got home, he saw Harry curled up on his overly large couch, fast asleep. His calculus book was on the floor in front of him, still open to whatever he was working on, and a pencil was gripped firmly in his hand. But Harry wasn't calm. He was twisting and turning; muttering nonsensical noises that Tom couldn't make out. He was having a nightmare.

Slowly, the older man made his way over, being careful not to wake the boy. Harry continued the struggle against his subconscious, even after Tom sat down. After only a few moments of watching him, Tom ran his hand through soft, windswept locks. Harry leaned into the touch.

For a moment, Tom's eyes narrowed, thinking that Harry might have actually been awake, but when the nightmare continued, he disregarded that thought, and simply continued to run his hand through Harry's hair. Through his hair, down his back, and over again. The thought of exploring Harry's body as a way of waking him up was a powerful one, but Tom had been serious when he said he would wait until Harry was begging for it. The shaking and muttering came to a stop, but Tom kept his motions going.

He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he liked that Harry had calmed down for him. He liked the way leaned into his touch and the way the boy felt beneath his fingertips.

He liked it a lot.

Then there was the time when Harry wore his shirt. Tom had always been a territorial person, so the sight of Harry wearing his clothing, practically marking himself as Tom's, was incredible. He had even changed his cologne that day. He wasn't entirely sure why at the time, but it had been worth it to see Harry's emerald green eyes dilate in pleasure when he was pressed against the wall. Tom was fairly sure at times that Harry had no idea that he was showing his pleasure at how Tom smelled or looked or felt, but Tom was experienced in the field of pleasure, and he knew the signs. And those little, subconscious signs were almost enough to drive him over the edge.

Almost.

What actually gave him a shove was when he had kissed Harry in the elevator and the younger man had molded to his every movement, making it so that Tom literally had a hard time choosing between continuing the kiss and breathing. God, if only his lungs could have held out longer…

But one instance topped all of those.

Before Tom could reminisce more, he felt the body beside of him jerk into a sitting position.

"What the hell, Riddle?" Harry wasn't happy with their predicament. Tom wasn't happy he was still being called Riddle.

"You were having a nightmare." He could tell by the way Harry shivered that the young man enjoyed the fact that his voice was deeper and more gravelly than usual from tiredness. Yes, Tom knew he was sex-incarnate. He enjoyed using that to his advantage. "Would you like to talk?" Deep brown, almost red orbs stared directly into green, which narrowed menacingly.

Harry knew Tom was being patronizing, and no amount of sex appeal would stop him from showing his irritation.

"Fuck you, Riddle." Harry's voice was also deeper, but from sleeping rather than lack thereof.

Tom liked that, too.

"I think we both know I'll be the one doing the fucking, _Harrison_." Tom wanted Harry to feel the same way that he did when the younger man said his name, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Forest green eyes grew cold.

"Don't call me that." There was no force or animosity behind the words. Only sternness. Tom cocked a brow.

"And why not?" He could do whatever he wanted to do, and no one would stand in his way.

"Because you may be irritating, but you aren't cruel enough for that." That was where Harry was wrong. Tom didn't have limits to his cruelty. But the green eyed tempter didn't need to know that.

"Are you sure about that?" Tom leaned closer to Harry, so that their lips were only inches away from each other. Harry didn't smile. He didn't pull away.

"Yes." Tom took it as a go-ahead and went to close the space between them, but Harry spoke again as a (irritatingly effective) way of stopping him. "But no one really is."

Then he stood up, picked up his calculus book, and walked to his room.

Tom didn't stop him.

They had time.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Severus Snape hated it when Harry Potter was late. It irritated him that someone was disrespectful enough to miss even a moment of his class. It irritated him that he lost time that he could have spent watching the brilliant boy work. When green eyes would light up as he realized how to do an equation, Severus would be reminded of a beautiful red-headed woman he knew. A woman he had loved.

Until she had left him for a jock and broken his heart into a million pieces.

He hated that Potter shared the same last name as the man who had stolen his love away, but it was also sweet irony somehow. Severus thought that he might finally be able to relate to how Lily had felt. Like when they had tutoring sessions and Potter's eyes and attentions were focus solely on him.

It made Severus giddy.

He wanted that feeling to be there constantly. He wanted Potter to look only at him; to beg only Severus for attention, and not just because of a grade or for help studying.

He would get it, too.


	7. Shades of Violet

_**Author's Note:**_ _Hey, there's no such thing as abandoning in my book. This story will be completed, no matter what._

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Six not mines times six not mines equals thirty-six not mines._

_Riddle leaned over Harry, his eyes sparking with mischief. Scotch and chocolate and Black Suede washed over his senses, drowning him in a pleasurable mist of smells that really shouldn't have been good together. He had a devilish smirk spread across his lips as he examined Harry, looking more like a wolf who had just captured his prey than a cat who gotten the cream. _

"_Are you ready to beg yet?" Riddle's lips leaned close enough to Harry's so that if the younger man spoke in the wrong way, they'd be kissing. Oh, how he was tempted to speak in such a manner, especially with Tom's smooth as sin voice._

"_N-no." He had to resist. _

"_Are you sure?" Tom's hand hiked up Harry's shirt, and, unlike the last time where his hand had just barely slipped under the shirt, Tom revealed Harry's entire abdomen, including the two of the six scars which marred his upper body: a large diagonal one across his abdomen and a long, straight one up his right side. A small circular scar on the juncture of his left shoulder stayed hidden along with the three scars on his back. _

_Riddle froze, and the spell was broken. _

"_What the fuck is this?" The large hand ran itself roughly over the scars, and Harry was helpless against his strength. _

"_R-Riddle—" Harry couldn't form a complete sentence. _

"_What made a freak like you think you could have pleased me with a broken body like this?" Harry's eyes snapped open, blurry from unshed tears, to see Vernon Dursley above him. "You may be able to trick others into thinking you're a nice boy, but I see the freak beneath you. I see The Boy Who Lived." The hand – suddenly course, suddenly Vernon's – went up to rub at his scar, and Harry struggled harder. _

"_Don't!" There was no coherent thought, only fear. He was a small boy again. He couldn't defend himself._

"_Don't what? Expose you for the freak you really are? Freak! Freak! Just stay still!"_

Harry jolted up in his bed, sweat making his usually unruly hair stick to his face. He slowly lowered his head into shaking hands, breath coming out in uneven gasps. That dream was exactly why he could never let anyone know. They wouldn't react with delight. They wouldn't accept him. They would know he was a freak and shun him away; toss him back into the shadows.

Riddle especially.

And Harry couldn't handle that. He couldn't be the Boy Who Lived. He couldn't be Harrison Potter – the freak under the stairs. He was just Harry.

Just Harry.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry didn't much like his tutoring time with Snape. Sure, he learned a lot more, but the man just didn't give Harry the best of vibes. He talked about chemical reactions as though they were nothing, and he waited almost patiently for Harry to understand. It was… nice, Harry supposed, simply not what he was used to.

"Why me, Professor?" Harry didn't even realize he had asked the question until he caught sight of Snape's dark brown, nearly black eyes staring curiously into his own. Harry was quick to clarify, not breaking eye contact. "I mean, there are others who are failing your class a lot worse than I am. Why tutor me?" He didn't want to seem ungrateful, but he wanted to know. Curiosity had always been his weakness.

"Potter, why do you _think_ I chose you?" Snape sounded like he was trying to teach Harry something that he believed was obvious, as per usual. Harry just shrugged.

"Heck if I know." At Snape's rising brows, Harry quickly added, "Um, Sir." Something like approval flashed through dark orbs.

"I chose to tutor you because you're brilliant. You just haven't caught your knack for this subject yet. I've seen you on the math portions of my tests. There isn't a mistake to be found. It's just the theory that gets you. That's where I come in." He just genuinely wanted to see Harry succeed? It was an odd thought, but not an unwelcome one.

"Well, thank you, Professor."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and once you get this, some of your intelligence will rub off on the Diggory boy." Being flattered by arguably the hardest professor in the chemistry branch of the college made a blush rise to Harry's cheeks, and he really wasn't sure how to respond.

"Um, I don't know about—" But whatever niceness had slipped into the room fled along with Harry's ability to comprehend what in the world was going on.

"Enough chatter. Back to the task at hand." And suddenly, the Snape Harry knew and disliked was back. "Just keep trying. I'm sure you'll get it."

Well, mostly.

When the session was over, Harry's mind was swimming with information.

"Thank you, Professor Snape." Harry, at times, truly didn't like the man, but he felt as though perhaps he had seen a different side of the man during that session. Snape berated him harshly, of course, but that was just how he was. Maybe there was a friend to be found in the older man.

Snape simply nodded, already going back to his work. Harry didn't bother him further, instead walking out of the room and seeing Cedric on the other side.

"How was your session with the demon?" Harry frowned at the term, never enjoying talking about a person being his or her back.

"It was fine. He was actually sort of nice." Cedric's brows rose in surprise, and a hand quickly rose to check Harry's forehead.

"Nice, Harry? This is the devil incarnate we're talking about." The devil incarnate. Cedric obviously hadn't met Riddle if he thought that Snape was the devil incarnate.

"He's not that bad, Cedric." At least, not that day, he wasn't, but Cedric only laughed at Harry's response.

"You're too nice, Man." Cedric unlocked his car with a click of a button, and they both climbed in. "But at least you're prepared for the next test, right?" He sounded happy, and Harry laughed.

Cedric was actually excellent at Chemistry. He kept his grades mediocre because he didn't want people flocking to him for being rich, handsome, nice, _and_ smart. The way he figured it, at least some people disliked him for being a dumb jock. Silly, of course, but hey. That was just how Cedric was.

"So, how about we go to dinner? My treat." Cedric looked over, a smile lighting his features. He loved taking Harry places. His reason was always, _"Because your name may be Potter, but you're a Diggory at heart. May as well live like one, yeah?" _Cedric had considered Harry a brother for as long as the younger man could remember.

"I'm good. I actually need to be getting home for all that homework." It was a sad truth, but Cedric wasn't ready to accept it yet.

"Just one meal. Two hours, and I'll take you home." He was pleading, and against those sparkling orbs, Harry knew he couldn't say no twice.

Without him having to say a word, Cedric knew he had agreed, and the car took a right. The sleek Mustang Convertible didn't need to be told twice as it easily took the curve. The restaurant they were going to, Deathly Hallows, was intimidating, to say the least, but Cedric was welcomed in as though he owned the place.

For all Harry knew, he did.

"I'll have some white wine, and Harry…" Cedric trailed off, knowing that Harry hated people ordering for him.

"Just water, please and thank you." The waiter nodded and left them alone.

"You and your health concerns. Haven't you ever lived a little?" Cedric smiled, taking the wine that was offered to him by the surprisingly quick waiter. Harry took his glass of water, and the waiter left the bottle of wine for Cedric to use as he pleased. This was clearly not the Diggory heir's first time there.

"I'm just not a big fan of alcohol is all." Vernon had drunken Vodka a lot. Professor Umbridge had drunken wine a lot. He hated the taste of it. He hated the smell of it. Well, he hated the smell of everything but scotch. Remus had liked to drink a glass of scotch before bed. He said it helped chase away the boogie men. And Riddle… Well, who knew why he liked Scotch so much? Harry had never seen him drink anything but coffee.

"My bad, Harry." It wasn't Cedric's fault. He had no idea which subjects were touchy and which weren't, and Harry tossed out a genuine smile.

"It's not something I get too riled up over anymore. No worries." Cedric smiled back, and their attention turned to the menus.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Rodolphus pulled into his parking spot with ease, Sirius moving restlessly in the seat beside of him. Everyone had doubled up for a night out. Sirius with Rodolphus (as though Rodolphus would let him have anyone else), Ron with Hermione (of course), and Tom with some blonde haired, blue eyed bimbo that he had picked up at one of his meetings with the French company for fun (Fleur Delacore?). Tom had expressed boredom after his meetings, and Hermione had been itching to go on a double date for quite some time. A triple date made her even happier.

Especially with her favorite restaurant: Deathly Hallows. It was a bit of dark place, but there was a definite air of refinement around it as well. Tom didn't even glance at the long line as he led the way to the door, and no bouncer dared question him.

"Ah! M-Mr. Riddle! What a—What a pleasant surprise!" Tom never called ahead. He never needed to. Judging by the way the waiter was looking so jittery, perhaps he should have. "I- I'm extremely sorry, but we d-don't have a table large enough to seat all of you at the—at the moment. The largest we have seats, um, four, but I'm sure that—" Tom cut him off with three words.

"We'll take it." Rodolphus raised a brow at his boss, but didn't question it. "Just place it together with the table by the third window." The waiter almost looked as though he would question the request, but a single look into Tom's eyes had him backing off. Rodolphus – along with the rest of the group, he was sure, looked towards the table they would be joining.

Surprisingly, it contained Harry Potter, someone who had proclaimed not to be the largest fan of high-end restaurants, and Cedric Diggory, a wealthy heir to a large company.

"Hm…" Rodolphus hummed in interest as the waiter, clearly apologetically, pushed the table over to Harry's. Other waiters got the chairs while the main waiter pointed towards the group. Green and brown eyes looked over, and both widened. Harry turned towards Diggory, probably explaining that he worked with them, and a warm smile spread across the taller male's lips. The larger boy's hand moved to cover Harry's in a comforting motion, and Rodolphus saw Tom's grip on Fleur tighten slightly. It wasn't surprising to Rodolphus, as Tom had never been fond of sharing, but he still found it amusing.

Diggory turned easily to the waiter before nodding in approval, and the waiter, clearly more at ease, went back to fetch Rodolphus's group.

"This way, please." He sat them with a smile, took their drink orders, and left them with menus. Surprisingly, Fleur was the first one to speak.

"So, who are you?" Her eye moved between Harry and Diggory.

"My name is Cedric. It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am." She smiled, clearly happy at being called ma'am, and Harry tossed her a smile as well.

"I'm Harry. What's your name?" There was neither flattery not formality in Harry's wording.

"Fleur Delacore. Perhaps you recognize me?" She was an international model, often referred to as the Veela of Europe, who had attended the meter simply to support her family. Diggory nodded but Harry shrugged. His response was postponed as the drinks were delivered and the orders were taken.

"Doesn't ring a bell. Sorry." Fleur looked at him curiously, clearly unable to believe a teenage boy had never seen her (often times scandalous) pictures before.

"Oh, Harry, you really don't have any idea how to treat a lady, do you?" Diggory smiled endearingly. "I'm truly sorry for his ignorance. You'll have to excuse him." Clearly, the young man was flattering Fleur. Clearly, he had no idea whose arm she was currently on.

"Oh, it's fine, dearie. So, how do you know Tom?" In other words, she wanted to know if he had any power for her to use to get to the top. Diggory smiled charmingly.

"I don't." Blue eyes widened, and Harry laughed. Rodolphus slipped an arm around Sirius's waist as the waiter returned to take their orders, and, for once, Sirius didn't push him away.

"But—You…" Her eyes slowly moved over to Harry.

"Don't worry. You aren't wrong on who, logically, should know him. I'm just the bus-boy." He said it happily, and Rodolphus remembered back when he could have believed that. Before Harry stood up to Tom without blinking. Before he ruthlessly took down a man from an opposing gang. Before he knew Remus.

"Oh. Well, that makes sense." She turned back to Tom with an engaging smile. "It's so humbling of you to be willing to eat with your underlings. An admirable trait, really." Her hand splayed itself across Tom's chest, and Rodolphus smirked knowingly. All she wanted out of the two boys was to know her options, and right then, Tom was the most appealing option.

He usually was.

Rodolphus removed his arm from around Sirius's person as the food arrived.

"Excuse me, but did you just call my friend an underling?" Diggory, quite clearly, was not pleased.

"Don't worry about it, Ced. She's right. I am an underling. I'm at this deceivingly handsome brute's beck and call. Tell me, will you win his heart and turn the beast into a prince again?" There was mischief sparkling in green eyes, and Sirius laughed boisterously beside of Rodolphus. Hermione whispered something to Ron across the table from Rodolphus, and the ginger laughed.

"I'll certainly try. As long as he remains a beast in all the places that matter, of course." She meant the bedroom, but her sexual humor failed to amuse Rodolphus.

"With a doll like you, I'm sure he will." Cedric tossed himself into the conversation. "And speaking of dolls, I really did love your last piece, what with pretending to be marionettes and all." Rodolphus met Ron's eyes, and he could tell that the strategist was equally surprised that the heir was actually keeping up with her work.

"Well, we know that Harry works with us, but how do you know him?" Ron tore the attention away from Fleur, and she shot him a glare. Diggory just smiled.

"We went to the same high school, and now we both attend Hogwarts." Diggory smiled. "But it's mainly because I took one look into my dearest Harry's eyes and fell deeply in love, my only quest since then being to woo him." Diggory took Harry's hand across their half empty plates of food with a smile.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry smiled knowingly at Cedric's ploy. The boy was 100% straight and, on top of that, considered Harry a brother, but he never stopped finding fun in pretending that he was after Harry. Green eyes rolled as Harry took his hand back.

"Cedric?" Brown eyes sparkled with glee as he knew that everyone at the table thought he was being serious.

"Yes, Love?" Brown hair fell into brown orbs as Cedric turned up the amount of charm he put in his smile.

"You're an idiot." But Harry couldn't help but smile all the same. Cedric broke their gaze to look at the rest of the table.

"That's Harry-Talk for 'I love you,' you know." Quite clearly, no one knew what they were going on about, and Harry, still holding Cedric's hand, stood from the table, pulling the older man with him.

"And, _Love_, I do believe it's time we got going." Harry had never been against mixing work and pleasure, but Riddle's eyes held a look that said Cedric was about to get ripped apart, so Harry figured it was just about time to go. "I'll see you guys tomorrow at work. It was nice meeting you, Fleur." Harry's hand unclasped from Cedric's, and they walked towards the front desk. With a last wave at the table, Cedric paid for the two and they left.

"You've got some mighty odd friends, Harry." Cedric was still smiling. "I like them." They got back into the car, and Harry gave him directions to Riddle's place. "Well, as much as you can like a bunch of strangers. I've got to tell you though, I didn't think you were working for such a powerful guy! He's so much more intimidating in person than he is in the magazines and papers. Just as handsome though. It's no wonder that model was only half-interested in me." Cedric wasn't used to women not being interested in him, but he wasn't conceited about it, either.

"That's Riddle for you, I guess." The man was an enigma; one that Harry wasn't completely enthused about figuring out.

"He didn't seem to like me much. How did you score that job, anyhow?" For a second, Harry thought about the odd number of dominos which had fallen in order to land him where he was. Draco's need to be wanted. Riddle's inability to play Human. A cocktail scheme that wasn't even slightly believable. A cousin who couldn't stay away. Gangs who couldn't accept him backing out. Revealing fighting skills he had been trying to convince the world he didn't have. Riddle's insatiable lust and inability to accept no for an answer.

"Dumb luck, I guess." Yeah. That pretty much summed it up. Cedric laughed.

"You do have the ability to get yanked into the worst possible situations at the worst possible times. Looks like your luck is finally turning around." Cedric parked. "A great job, new friends, Snape being nice, and just look at this house! Someone's looking out for you, Harry." When Cedric put it that way, maybe he was right. Maybe things really were turning around for him?

Harry hugged Cedric before getting out of the car and making his way into the large house.

There was only one way to find out.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Tom didn't bother with the foreplay that be bestowed upon those lucky enough to be considered lovers, and instead simply made quick work of the frilly panties that had covered his date beneath her expensive dress. She didn't care that he was about to ruin it. That was probably part of the excitement. She had a hundred more at home, he didn't doubt.

"Oh, Tom!" Fleur shouted as his fingers slipped inside of her, but it wasn't the voice Tom wanted to hear, and she wasn't putting up nearly enough of a fight to satisfy him. Her manicured nails dug pleasurably into his muscled back, and his lips crashed onto hers. She kissed back willingly, loving the way he dominated her. Tom moved his fingers inside of her, stretching her out. "God, Thomas, please! I need you inside of me!" Her cries were wanton, and Tom didn't bother on correcting his name. Lots of people mistakenly thought that Tom was short for Thomas.

Lots of people were wrong.

He easily slipped his fingers out of her and lifted her so that her legs wrapped around his waist, her bare wetness soaking through to the bulge in his jeans, and he took them both over to the couch. He only had two rules over his conquests: never in his room, and they had to be either tested (if male) or tested and there had to be a condom (if female). Tom reached into the table at the edge of the couch and quickly picked out a condom. He tore it open with his teeth and slipped it on in one quick motion. It was pre-lubricated, so Tom didn't bother grabbing any of that. Instead, he simply lifted her dress and pushed himself inside of her.

Her moans were incredibly loud, and Tom hoped that Harry could hear her. He hoped that the boy was wondering if she was playing it up or if Tom was really that wonderful. He hoped that Harry was touching himself to the sounds of Tom fucking and wishing that he was in Fleur's place. Tom thrust more deeply into her, and instead of burying his nose in her hair, he buried it in the uppermost part of the last couch cushion on the left, where Harry had fallen asleep the night before. Cheap coffee and fresh hazelnut invaded his senses, and Tom's cock twitched in response. Oh, how he longed to be buried inside of the green eyed boy. It would be pure bliss, he was sure.

"Thomas, you're a god! Oh, right there!" Was Harry hitting his own sweet spot while listening to them? Tom would give a lot to see the boy masturbating.

Fleur's walls tightened around Tom, and he rode out her orgasm, giving himself a few more pumps before pulling out and taking the condom off and tossing it in the trash. He didn't give Fleur enough time to bask in the after-sex satisfaction before he pushed his weeping cock in her face. He may not be able to cum inside of her vagina thanks to the possibility of impregnating her, but that didn't mean he couldn't cum inside of her. She only stared at it for a second before sated, lust-filled eyes glanced up to meet crimson-chocolate. She couldn't believe he wasn't finished yet.

It was understandable, as they had been going at it, straight fucking, at that, for the better part of an hour, but Tom would finish when he finished. Fleur, after her quick hesitation, took a large portion of Tom's length into her mouth. With the way she concentrated on the tip and kept putting pressure on different places, he could tell she knew what she was doing. Her hands came up to cup his balls and play with the portion of his cock that she couldn't take in. He threaded his hands in her hair to get her to go at the pace he wanted and when his cock finally twitched in anticipation for release, his hands tightened in her hair, making sure she would stay there. Not as though she tried to pull away. Fleur, just like every other person, wanted Tom. She wanted whatever he felt like giving her.

She, just like everyone else, wasn't the man Tom was craving.

Tom pulled out of her mouth and put himself away, not bothering to fix his pants as he stood and began walking towards his bedroom.

"You know where the door is."

**(***Iridescent***)**

_Harry laughed at his mother's irritated expression, which was much more bearable when it was pointed towards his father. _

"_James, what do you mean you took Harry out for ice cream today? What if someone was to see you? To see him?" There was more worry than irritation there, but all Harry could really comprehend at the tender age of four was that she wasn't happy._

"_Our secret keeper is in prison for something he didn't do, Liliflower. The only person who knows we're here needs us there. I'm just preparing him for the world he's eventually going to have to integrate into." His father had been a detective, and he had come close enough to the serial killer he was chasing – a name so old and awful that Harry could no longer remember it – that they had been forced into hiding with no one other than his partner (Padfoot, Harry recalled) knowing where. _

"_But, James…" Her voice wavered, and Harry's eyes looked curiously between his parents. He didn't understand the severity of the situation. His daddy had taken him out into the town and gotten him ice cream. Sure he hadn't been outside in a long time, but if it was for ice cream, the trip had to have been worth it, right?_

"_Momma?" Was she mad that they hadn't brought her back any ice cream? If so, Harry was super sorry. She had been teaching him about sharing lately, he had just forgotten. _

"_It's okay, Sweetheart. Daddy and I were just talking about—" She cut herself off before she could continue "—Well, you don't really need to worry about that." Lily picked her child up, and green eyes lovingly met green eyes. "Just remember that we love you, okay? No matter what happens, we'll always, _always_ love you." She held him closer, and Harry's chubby hands gripped at her shirt, catching her curly red locks between skin and cloth in the process._

"_She's right, my little Animagus." Harry wouldn't understand the nickname until he would read The Misadventures of Neville Longbottom. "You've got nothing to worry about. Now, how about you tell your mother what kind of ice cream you got?" His smile was dashing, and black, windswept locks much resembling Harry's own were swept out of hazel eyes. Harry quickly smiled, his attention-span quickly forgetting the dark mood which had been present only moments prior. In truth, he didn't need to remember that particular time where the fear had gripped his family._

_The mood would resurface soon and often enough that the singular instance where Harry first remembered it really didn't matter that much at all._


	8. Shades of White

_**Author's Note:**_ _I need to make this clear. What happens in The Misadventure dos Neville Longbottom are just stories. They're the characters that won't actually be appearing in the AU. There is no Lord Voldemort or Dumbledore or Neville. This is my way to incorporate them. It's just a story within a story. Nothing more. Also, sorry for the sporadic updates, but college trumps FFN every time. Reality and all that jazz…_

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Well, this IS an AU…_

Harry flipped a pancake with ease, and when Riddle came out of his room, hair tousled from sleep, in nothing but a pair of black, disheveled pants and a pistol in his hand, the boy didn't even blink.

"Morning to you, too." Harry placed the pancake on a plate along with the two others he had made and poured the last of the batter into the pan. Riddle easily lowered his weapon and, after turning the safety on, slipped it easily into the rim of his pants.

"Morning." Riddle's voice was deep and gruff, and Harry suppressed a shiver.

"Hey, I know it's your house and all," Harry flipped the pancake over, "but would you mind keeping it down next time? Your conquests are kind of hard to sleep through." Harry had never been one to beat around the bush.

"What? Do you not like someone else being where you should be?" Riddle, if nothing else, was a cocky son of a bitch. Harry placed the final pancake on the plate before turning around.

"Look, Riddle, you're hot. I'll give you that." Green connected with red-brown. "That doesn't mean I want you. And if I did want you, I wouldn't want you while you're willing to go around fucking whoever the hell you please. You've already made it clear that I'm stuck living here. All I'm asking is that you give me the courtesy of sleep." Harry didn't think that was too much to ask. For a long moment, Riddle didn't say anything, and Harry took that as a sign that he was finished with the topic at hand. The green eyed boy turned around to get the two plates and put one in front of Riddle before taking his own seat. Just because the older man was a rude bastard didn't mean that Harry was.

For a moment, Riddle just looked at him, then the silence was broken and the older man opened his mouth.

"Why are you so different?" Riddle seemed, for lack of a better word, baffled.

"In comparison to whom?" There were a lot of reasons that Harry was different from a lot of people.

"Everyone. You don't grovel at my feet for want of what I have or cower for fear of what I could do to you. Do you even _realize_ what I could do to you? _For_ you?" Oh, Harry knew. There wasn't a question about that.

"You could kill me, Riddle. I'm not under the impression that I could, against all odds, defeat you. At the same time, I know that—" Harry stopped, unsure of how much he wanted to tell Riddle, but he knew that being honest wasn't a quality he wanted to give up completely, "—if I let you get ahold of me, you could take me apart seam by seam, and I would have no choice but to love every moment of it." Chocolate rubies dilated at the thought of doing just that, and Harry forced himself to continue. "That doesn't mean I'm going to give into you. No amount of pleasure or pain will convince me to go against waiting for someone whom I love who loves me back, and that someone isn't you." Harry didn't care what Riddle did to him. He wasn't giving in.

"I could make you love me." Riddle was staring straight at Harry, but neither of them was smiling.

"Maybe, but you still wouldn't love me, so I still wouldn't cave to you." There was no way he would win. "Riddle, you gave up any chances you had of ever being with me the day you promised not to take me until I was begging for it. You won't go back on your word, and I won't beg." There was a sense of finality in the sentence, and Harry expected Riddle to back off. He expected the older man to give an argument for why Harry was being stupid.

"I was in an orphanage for a long time when I was younger." Harry hadn't expected that. "My mother tricked my father into sleeping with her, but he refused to take responsibility for the child he was having with her. When she went to his doorstep with me in hand on a cold, winter night, he turned her away without so much as batting an eyelash, his new family sitting cozily inside of his mansion. She took me to the orphanage that night and killed herself." Green eyes widened.

"That's why you killed your father." No, Harry hadn't been expecting that at all.

"Yes. It took me until I was sixteen to finally do it, but when I did… Well, they say vengeance is sweet for a reason." Riddle had yet to break eye contact, and Harry, for the first time in a long time, felt on edge. "It took me ten years to work up to the perfect murder, but I was patient, and I never faltered. Do you know why?" Harry's mouth went dry, and he found himself answering without his consent.

"Because you wanted it." Harry had wanted to kill Vernon like that, but he had never planned it out. There was too much hope that one day things would turn around. Riddle's lips turned upwards in confirmation.

"Because I wanted it. I wanted it more than I wanted anything else for the longest time, and I was determined to have it. You, Harry, fall into the same category." And he was just as determined as he was all those years ago. Time didn't matter to Riddle. He was planning on getting Harry one way or another.

The battle of wills had truly begun.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Tom couldn't explain why he wanted Harry so badly. He couldn't say what made the boy so irresistible. Perhaps it was the defiance in emerald orbs? Or maybe the fact that he could never be sure what Harry was actually up to. Maybe it was the simple fact that the boy had said no. He really wasn't sure. The only thing he positively knew was that he did, in fact, want the younger man.

Which was why it pissed him off when he saw Harry with the Diggory boy.

Which was why he had put it on his personal agenda to seek the young heir out.

"So, what exactly is it you wanted to talk to me about?" Diggory also had windswept hair, but he couldn't pull it off like Harry could. Overall, Tom wasn't impressed.

"What's your relationship with Harry?" That was what mattered. Diggory's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I'm his best friend. What about you?" Diggory wasn't about to let this be the interrogation Tom had intended.

"His lover." There was no hesitation in his answer, as it may as well have been true. Hazel eyes widened.

"_You_?" And chocolate rubies narrowed.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Tom would be the first to say that he was an intimidating man. Judging by the flash of fear that went through Diggory's eyes, he wouldn't oppose to being the second.

"Nah, man. You just don't seem like his… type." Not Harry's type? Harry had said something similar to that before.

"And what, pray tell, is his type?" Tom sounded menacing, but he was genuinely curious.

"Um, I don't know. Not you? He wants someone who cares about him. He wants a man who loves him for who he is. He wants someone who isn't self-absorbed. He wants someone who isn't you." Quite clearly, Diggory didn't think that Tom deserved Harry, and he wasn't afraid to state it. Well, not while they were in a crowded location, anyhow.

"And you think you fit the bill?" That was what Tom had actually come for. He wanted to know if he had competition.

"I know I do." Tom's eyes narrowed, and Diggory couldn't hold his gaze. There was a dark pause between them before he continued. "But he's a little brother to me. The love I feel for him isn't something that can provide him what he craves. If the love you feel for him – assuming you're even capable of such a thing – can fulfill his needs, I won't stand in your way. Don't think for a moment that I'm just going to sit here while you hurt him though." Their gazes met again, and this time Diggory held it just long enough to get a challenge out. "I may not be competition, but that shouldn't make you any less wary of my sway over him." Diggory thought he could take Harry away from Tom. As the young man walked away, he was clearly unaware of what a powerful enemy he had just made.

Or perhaps he was just smart enough to run away before he could find out.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry ran into his chemistry class, late. He gave a quick apology, eyes connecting with Professor Snape's long enough to see the irritation flashing in dark orbs, before looking over to his usual 'I'm-extra-late-today-and-don't-want-to-gain-extra-attention-by-seeking-out-the-seat-beside-of-Cedric' seat. He blinked when he saw Malfoy in it.

Yet, even without looking, he could feel Snape's stare demanding him to take a seat, so Harry quickly found Cedric and took his seat.

"Mr. Potter, you took the time to interrupt my class with your tardiness. Surely you can spare the time to pay attention?" Snape, much less nice than when they were alone, easily got Harry's attention.

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." He could hear Malfoy snicker in the background, but he paid it no heed. The other boy would end up telling Harry what was going on within the day. Snape's eyes connected with Harry's again, and the young man saw a flash that he wasn't used to being there. It was almost as though he had seen something that he liked, which was impossible, as Snape hated everything but chemistry.

Before they could get back to the lesson, a phone rang. Harry's shoulder's stiffened in the immediate reaction of thinking it was his own, but he didn't recognize the bland ringtone, so he switched from worrying about himself to praying for the poor soul that dared not turn off his or her phone in Snape's presence.

And then Snape held up a hand for the class to become silent and answered his phone.

Perhaps the world was ending?

"Don't speak." Harry couldn't have said whether the order had been directed at the class or the person on the other end of the line, but there was enough authority in it that he was sure both listened.

A silent moment passed, and then Snape clicked his phone shut and dismissed the class.

Slowly, as though no one was sure whether he was serious or not, people began to file out of the classroom. Harry turned to share a joke with Cedric about how he had lucked out in his timing, but Snape's voice stopped him.

"Not you." Harry hadn't been looking at his teacher, but he automatically knew that the words were directed at him. Cedric tossed him an apologetic smile, which Harry easily returned, before filing out of the room with everyone else.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry had been alone with the man so many times from their tutoring sessions that their situation almost seemed normal.

"Potter, if I tell you something, you must keep it to yourself. Do you understand me?" Snape's tone was even more serious than usual, if possible. Harry, slightly warily, nodded. "I'm trying to find The Boy Who Lived." And, quite suddenly, Harry wished he had stayed in bed.

"W-what? Why?" A suspicious look entered Snape's eyes, as Harry had never stuttered before, but it was gone just as quickly as it had come.

"I knew his parents, and if the stories that I had heard about his extended family were true, he wasn't, maybe still isn't, in a good place. I want to see him, just to know how he's turned out." He confided his intentions in Harry, but the boy's mind was doing like his words and stuttering to a halt.

"You knew his parents?" How many people was he going to randomly learn knew them? "Then you know who he is?" Impossible. Snape had never shown any knowledge that Harry was…

"Yes, I did. I'm not sure what his actual name is. They went into hiding before he was born, and his name was never released. Not even their second secret keeper knew the name." Sec- Wait, what? The confusion must have shown on Harry's features as Snape went on to explain. "They had a first secret keeper, Sirius Black, but everyone knew he was the secret keeper, so he passed the position onto Peter Pettigrew with only he and the Potter's knowledge. It was assumed that Black betrayed them, but I don't believe so." There was so much to process.

"So… You want to help him?" Harry looked Snape straight in the eyes, but even as the man answered in an affirmative, his deep, dark orbs gave nothing away. Harry, for a moment, contemplated telling him. Then the moment ended. He wasn't about to blow his cover for a teacher who only sometimes tolerated him. "Why tell me this?" Harry looked just as confused as he felt.

"Because he'll be around your age. If I find him, I would like you to be there to help comfort him. The information I'll be presenting will be a lot to take in, and I know you'll approve of my methods." His methods?

But Harry couldn't force himself to ask any more questions. His head was spinning.

"I'll think about it, Professor." And the, without another word or glance in his elder's directions, Harry left. When he bumped into Draco outside of the building, he was surprised. It had slipped his mind that the boy had been in the classroom.

"What's the matter, Potter? Not used to people actually wanting you around?" His tone was snide, but Harry was too wrapped up in his previous conversation to care. He brushed past the other boy without a word. "You can run, but put yourself in the other guy's shoes! You would want help, too, wouldn't you?" The words were shouted, but they still seemed muffled to Harry's ears. It wouldn't be for another few hours that he would realize that Draco had known what had one on in the room.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Draco smiled at his long time mentor, Severus Snape. The man had been Draco's private tutor for as long as he could remember; one of his father's business endeavors. He had long ago become one of Draco's greatest friends.

"Hey, Sev. How'd it go?" Severus may have looked like his same stone-faced self to anyone else, but Draco could see the slightest of flushes on the older man's cheeks. He was excited.

"He said he would think about it." His voice didn't change pitch, but Draco knew him too well for him to believe Severus was as collected as he seemed.

"You know, I don't see why you like him so much." Draco couldn't understand why everyone he was close with had a thing for Potter. But if Severus had the green eyed boy, Tom would be Draco's again. So, despite the fact that Severus would treat Harry better than Draco would prefer, (as Severus was a kind man at heart) it was the necessary means to a much preferred end.

"He's perfect. He's almost what I pictured The-Boy-Who-Lived to look like, only better." What could have been mistaken for a smile flashed across the man's lips. Draco looked at his nails with half-interest.

"Yeah, what's your deal with that kid, anyhow? You've never been one for a hero-complex." In fact, Severus hated heroes. He thought them to be ridiculous and attention-seeking.

"I just remember when the whole ordeal happened, and I would like to see what's become of him. Help him, if possible. I know what he needs." There was something cryptic in his words that caught Draco's interest.

"What does he need?" What could Severus possibly do for a boy he'd never met?

"It'll be clear soon enough." Draco stared for a long moment before returning his attention to his nails. Severus really did love to dance around his answers.

"Whatever."

**(***Iridescent***)**

Rodolphus stroked Sirius's back lovingly. The younger man had fallen asleep on him while watching a movie, and Rodolphus took the time to admire his husband. Sirius was a handsome man. He had a strong jaw line and broad shoulders. He was very well built with shaggy black hair. His stormy grey eyes were hidden by fleshy lids, but Rodolphus would always be able to remember how they look. They were burned into his memory.

They showed him what it was like to truly be loved.

Sure, Sirius would deny being _in love_ with him, but Rodolphus knew better. He had heard the words.

Once.

_Rodolphus chuckled at the way Sirius looked at the world full of wonder. It was his first time in Vegas, and he wasn't letting anything get him down. In fact, to make sure that he would keep in high spirits, he had downed a few too many shots of vodka. _

"_Rudy! Rudy! Look over there! Look at that one!" Sirius pointed towards a tall building excitedly, but Rodolphus didn't look at it. He was too busy admiring the way that Sirius smiled and how his eyes sparkled. Even the way he stumbled around was adorable._

"_Yes, yes, Sirius." He agreed nonchalantly, but humor was deep in his tone._

"_N-no, Rudy! You didn't—didn't even look!" But Rodolphus couldn't tear his eyes away from Sirius. "You want to hear a secret?" Rodolphus humored him._

"_Sure, Sirius." After a moment, the younger man leaned up and whispered (rather loudly, but the drunken Sirius had thought it to be a whisper) into Rodolphus's ear. _

"_I love you." Despite the fact that it was louder than the man had intended, Sirius didn't sound drunk. Sirius pulled back and looked Rodolphus in the eyes, his charming smile firmly in place. _

"_Marry me." Rodolphus hadn't expected the words to slip past his lips, but he didn't regret them._

_Not with those beautifully stormy eyes agreeing to his request._

And despite the fact that Sirius had drawn up the divorce papers in his shock, he didn't often press Rodolphus to sign them. He hadn't done so in years, actually. Sirius didn't want to leave Rodolphus's side any more than Rodolphus wanted to leave Sirius's.

And nothing could make them.

**(***Iridescent***)**

"I'm off to go collect." Bellatrix grinned, knowing that blood would be spilled before they would get their money. Tom glanced up from his work, stopping her on a dime. "Yes, Tom?" She loved it when he looked her in the eyes. It was a thrill more wonderful than anything she had ever experienced. His eyes made her feel like the devil, himself was asking for the most pleasurable of payments.

"Rodolphus will take this one." Her blood ran cold. Rodolphus? He couldn't take her job! He had taken her last fight! And her dinner plans with Tom! He was taking everything!

"But… Why?" Her voice sounded more helpless than she ever liked it to be, but there was no helping that. She couldn't be less herself when Tom was unhappy with her. She needed his approval. She _craved_ it.

"Do I need a reason?" His voice demanded that she back down without raising a single octave.

Very quietly, she sat back down. Rodolphus left the room.

"Hey, Riddle, the book isn't balancing. Is there something you forgot to write down?" Potter walked over to Tom's desk to show him the check book, and Bellatrix watched uselessly as Tom wound a strong arm around the younger man's waist. This wasn't like the lusty attack he had with Draco. Tom almost seemed as though he cared if Potter was comfortable. And Potter rolled his eyes. He huffed. But he didn't attempt to push Tom away.

What was going on?

"Hey, Harry! You aren't bitching about Tom being touchy anymore! Is there something you want to tell me?" Sirius waggled his eyebrows obnoxiously, but Bellatrix couldn't berate him now. She needed to hear the answer. Potter shrugged, seemingly unperturbed as he sat the check book on Tom's desk, getting out of Tom's grasp just after. Why did Tom simply let him go?

"Nah. Riddle's just been a little nicer than usual and fighting him gets me in a lot worse situations than letting him hug me here and there. As long as he doesn't overstep his boundaries, I don't particularly care." He walked away, as though that was all he had to say.

"You—You can't give tom boundaries. He can do as he pleases!" She couldn't allow this boy's ego to grow so out of control!

"It's fine, Bellatrix." Crimson chocolate pools met easily with her own. They didn't hold the same emotion as when he had been gazing hungrily at Potter. He didn't _want_ or _crave_ her. He didn't care. "If he gets out of hand, I can take care of him myself." Since when had Tom become so complacent? Anyone who denied him (Had anyone ever actually denied him?) had been ripped apart before this. Why was Potter allowed to look on without fear?

"But…" His eyes narrowed at her weak interjection.

"Take a page from Rodolphus's book and trust that a single man won't be too much for me to handle." And it was back to Rodolphus.

Rodolphus told Tom he could let Harry walk all over him.

Rodolphus took her fight.

Rodolphus took her job.

At that moment, Rodolphus walked easily back into the room. He was suave, and he sat deposit slip easily in front of Tom.

"Good job." Tom's voice was just as beautiful as the rest of him, but it hadn't been directed at her.

Rodolphus had stolen her praise.

Potter walked back over to get the slip. Rodolphus walked towards the door before turning back to say something else. He was facing the desk, away from her and towards everyone else. Before he could turn back, Bellatrix knew what she had to do. She stood quickly, and her foot shot out to hit him behind the knee. Had he not been so comfortable in his place of work, she never would have landed the hit. As it was, he spun in surprise as he fell, and her gun was cocked and pointing at him before he hit the ground. If he moved for his own gun, he was dead. She could see Potter and Tom and Sirius staring, and she could tell that they held the same information. If anyone reached for anything, Rodolphus was dead.

They didn't know the truth. They didn't realize he was dead anyways.

Maybe if Ron was here, he could have figured it out. Maybe he could have even come up with a plan to save Rodolphus. But he was out with Hermione, and everyone else would pay for that.

"Bellatrix, what are you—" For the first time, she cut Tom off.

"I'm saving you. Rodolphus is clearly trying to overtake you. He's placing terrible ideas into your head about fights and collections, and he's letting you think that your little whore can walk all over you! He's degrading you, and I won't let him!" She wanted to shoot him in just the right spot. She wanted his blood to splash onto her, and she wanted to taste the liquid as it exited his body.

Rodolphus only looked at her for a moment before turning his attention to Sirius.

"It's going to be fine." Reassurance for the man who didn't love him. Pathetic. Bellatrix actually laughed and took a step closer to try and regain his attention to the barrel of her gun. He didn't look.

"He's right! As soon as this is over, you won't have to worry about those divorce papers. I'm taking care of you, dear cousin." The room was soundproof. The carpet was being replaced Thursday anyhow. It was perfect.

"Bellatrix, stop this." It was a direct order, and Bellatrix almost obeyed out of pure reflex. She made herself hold strong.

"N-no. No, this is for you, Tom!" He words were followed shortly by a small, rare, genuine smile from Rodolphus and three simple words.

"I love you." He hadn't given her his attention yet. He was saying goodbye.

He knew the truth now, too.

"No, Rudy. We're going to get you out of this! I need someone to spar with and fight with and race with and talk to and joke with and—and—" Sirius cut himself off, and Rodolphus shifted, as though to comfort him, but grey eyes flickered back to the gun, reminding his to stay very, very still. He was lucky that she hadn't already shot him, and he knew it. She was giving him his goodbye. That way, Tom wouldn't be mad at her for making Sirius sad. She was being generous.

"I love you, Sirius." That was all Rodolphus had to say. She had only heard him say it a few times before, but it was more powerful, more _true_ each time. She could see Sirius, her idiot of a cousin, was near tears. He needed to hurry his goodbye.

"I—" Potter stopped him.

"Lower your gun, Bellatrix." His voice wasn't emotional. His eyes weren't teary. They were hard.

"Ha! You think you can—" And then Potter interrupted her, too.

"I'll give you to the count of seven, and then you're dead." She kept her gun and attention trained on Rodolphus, in case he tried to make a move, but Potter's threat was funny enough to cause her to laugh.

"Awe! Ickle baby Potter is going to—"

"One." His eyes didn't waver. She grinned wider. "Two." He was actually counting for her! Soon enough, his pace would waver as he hoped that she would back out, and then… "Three." Then the joke would be revealed.

"You can't be seri—"

"Four." His tone was cold. Her smile wavered. She knew he couldn't do anything, but she had also thought that when he had stepped into the rink so long ago. He was only trying to scare her. "Five." It wouldn't work.

"Six." Rodolphus was going to die.

"Seven." And the next thing she knew, his hand was inside of Tom's jacket, and faster than she could react, he had cocked Tom's Glock and pulled the trigger. Her life was over before she hit the floor.


	9. Shades of Silver

_**Author's Note:**_ _This is for one __**Shiro Yukino**__. Yes, I'll write a Naruto fiction for you. ItaNaru, ne?_

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ (Insert witty phrase meaning that it doesn't belong to me here.)_

"_Please! Please, just a little food!" Harry said it in his mind a million times. He opened his mouth and imagined saying it aloud. Once, he had even made a noise, but his mouth and throat had been too dry to go through with the plea. It was bad enough to see the other children buying the lunch at school while he sat hungrily at a table. The kids didn't eat it all, and Harry didn't dare ask for their leftovers. His uncle would hurt him if he did. His aunt would hurt him if he did. Dudley would tell them, and then they would hurt him. He would turn eleven in a few weeks and get swept away to a magical place by a giant, just like Neville had in his book. _

_Neville had lived under the stairs, too._

_Then they couldn't hurt him anymore, but for now, he was stuck staring at the feast in front of him as they prepared to celebrate Dudley's birthday. Petunia hadn't wanted him to prepare this meal, lest he messed it up. He couldn't touch it now that it was finished, either. Harry knew he was lucky to be out of his cupboard during a family event. He knew that he was being treated very, very nicely for a murderer. His uncle had explained very bluntly that his parents were dead because of him, and the only reason they took him in was because of the money his parents had left him. They could have put him in jail._

_He was lucky._

"_Boy! What are you doing at the table? Go get my keys!" Vernon was bellowing, showing his displeasure, and Harry scrambled up the steps to the master bedroom. He nearly tripped as he entered the room, and he was quick to yank on the bottom drawer of the bedside table. Unfortunately, his jerky motion pulled the top drawer open as well. A shiny, metal object glinted in the light. He knew what it was. He had glimpsed them on television when he passed by Dudley's room. He had been shot by Dudley's toy versions. This was the first time seeing a real one person though. Very slowly, Harry ran his finger along the machine. Just touching it was a thrill. He could feel a smile twitching at his lips, something foreign to him. _

"_Potter!" Harry jumped, and, with one last glance, shut the drawer. He grabbed the keys and slammed the other drawer closed as well. He figured it would probably be the last time he would ever see the gun. _

_He was wrong._

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry had shot a lot of guns in his years on Earth. He even owned one, though it wasn't in his name and he hadn't bought it. Before Dudley, it had been the only thing connecting him to his past life. Taken apart, cleaned, and put back together a million times; it currently resided between his mattresses, where he could easily grip onto it should he feel unsafe. Before Bellatrix, it had been used for his first and only threat on someone's life. Now, she was bleeding on the floor.

Before anyone could make another move or question him, Sirius shot forward to hug Rodolphus. It was practically a tackle, but Rodolphus easily accepted him. They didn't care that Bellatrix's blood was right next to them or that her eyes were staring lifelessly at their gripping hug. Neither cried or sobbed, but their grip on each other was enough to know that they hadn't expected to ever touch each other again.

"Rudy… I—" But Rodolphus shushed him easily.

"Another time, Sirius. When you're ready." That alone made any guilt that Harry may have otherwise felt vanish. Sirius stopped hugging Rodolphus and turned to sit peaceably on the floor beside of him. They continued to grip each other's hands. The attention, however, was moved to Harry. Harry moved his own attention to the gun in his hand. Shiny black metal smiled at him, and he felt the same thrill as when he had touched his first gun. Almost unwillingly, he handed the gun back.

"Thanks." But Riddle's response wasn't the polite usual.

"I didn't think you would do it." His eyes were dragging Harry in. They devoured his every move, demanding a response. Harry took his time.

"I learned a long time ago that the first rule about making threats is not to make them idle." He was revealing so much about himself already. He didn't need to give them more than necessary.

"That was your first kill?" Sirius questioned Harry easily, and Harry responded with just as much ease.

"Yes."

"How does it feel?" Rodolphus questioned his emotional state, and Harry gave him a relaxed grin.

"Same as ever." If his answers were kept short, he wouldn't accidentally give more of himself away. "Sorry about the carpet." Harry made it very clear that he wanted a change in topic. Tom stared him down in a way that Harry was sure meant that the conversation wasn't over before looking to Rodolphus and Sirius.

"Take the rest of the day off." His chocolate rubies immediately swung back to Harry. "Stay." And then he was on the phone, probably cleaning up the mess Harry had just made. Rodolphus and Sirius easily got to their feet, Sirius walking over to give Harry a bone-crushing hug while Rodolphus nodded to him gratefully. Then they were gone. Harry looked uneasily between the body and Tom. Uneasily not because of the situation but because he wasn't sure how much of his past he could keep in the past anymore. Knowing it could take a while for Tom to fix the mess he had just created, Harry laid himself down on the couch and tried to forget the day.

**(***Iridescent***)**

_Harry refused to look at the tall man who had saved him. He didn't know what the man wanted or why he had wasted the energy saving a freak like Harry, and that worried him. He was only thirteen. What could he possibly have to offer in gratitude? So, he didn't offer anything at all. He just stared at the ground._

"_Would you like some chocolate?" Well, until he heard that question. Harry's head shot up to look around in an attempt to see who he was talking to. Harry hadn't heard any other footsteps join them on the deserted street, but surely there must have been someone else around. But his ears hadn't deceived him. They were alone. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet a golden brown. _

"_Me?" Harry's voice was so hoarse that he wasn't sure if the sandy-blonde man had heard him. Yet, the man smiled gently and laughed a loving laugh. _

"_Of course you. Do you see anyone else around?" Harry blushed at the response before shaking his head in a negative motion._

"_No, Sir." He had been avoiding adults ever since he left Uncle Vernon's house, coming around society only for food's sake. Now that an adult was here, someone who seemed so much more like his daddy had than Uncle Vernon, Harry really only wanted the man to be pleased with him. _

"_Neither do I. Now, about that chocolate?" The hand moved from Harry's shoulder to right next to Harry's own hand, and they both stopped. Very slowly, he looked between the hand and the golden brown eyes patiently awaiting his response. He didn't know why, but he trusted this man just as much as he had trusted his own father. Harry placed his hand in the much larger one a moment later, and they began to walk again._

_The man led Harry to a small, cozy house in the woods, and there Harry was given a large mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream on top and a bar of chocolate. The fireplace had hot embers dancing within. _

"_We'll get some real food in you as soon as it's finished, but this should hold you ever for now." He smiled charmingly, and Harry downed half the cup before attempting speech again. _

"_What's your name?" It took a good minute to get the sentence out, but he knew he had to make it perfect. Otherwise, the man might start seeing him as a freak, too, and Harry wanted him to keep smiling._

"_Remus. Remus Lupin. And you?" Remus had his own glass of hot chocolate, and Harry quickly broke off a piece of the chocolate and put it in his mouth, just in case Remus decided to change his mind and take it away. It melted in his mouth, sweeter and better than anything he had ever had before. Remus waited patiently for him to finish not just that square but three more, and it wasn't until Harry didn't have any more hot chocolate to wash it down with that Harry realized Remus was still awaiting an answer._

"_Harry Potter, Sir." He needed to be respectful. The golden brown eyes that looked at him, however, with even more compassion than before. _

"_Potter?" Harry nodded quickly, glad that he didn't have to verbally respond. There was a small, nostalgic smile, and Harry tilted his head to the side in question, not sure if he was actually aloud to ask questions. "You know, I had a best friend who's last name was Potter. And he had a son who should be right about your age." Remus leaned over to brush some stray hairs out of Harry's face, eyes widening to alert Harry that he had seen his scar. Harry backed away quickly, and Remus quickly offered another smile. "I had a son who would be about your age now, too, if it wasn't for the Dementors." _

_He seemed sad and happy at the same time, and Harry found himself breaking two squares off of his chocolate – something of Dudley's that he had coveted for as long as he could remember – and offered it to Remus. The man blinked away his past before a genuinely grateful smile lit his face. He nodded in thanks and took the candy._

"_Will you teach me to protect myself?" The question clearly caught Remus off guard, and Harry could honestly say he hadn't expected to gain the courage to ask it. But he had seen Remus take out the Dementors with ease, and he wanted that power, too. He didn't want to be afraid anymore. Remus looked at the chocolate that Harry had handed him contemplatively, and Harry awaited refusal. There was a ten minute interlude in their conversation where all they did was sit in silence. Then, seemingly at random, Remus smiled and ate the chocolate._

"_Sure. But first, I need to teach you how to blend in. Let's cover up that scar, shall we?" Remus stood from his chair. "Andromeda used to love changing her looks. I'm sure she has a shade of concealer that will go with your skin tone." He offered his large, calloused, warm hand to Harry once again, and this time Harry didn't hesitate to take it._

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry hit the ground with a thump as he was forced into the reality of sleeping on a couch instead of a bed. A scoff was heard from in front of him, and Harry cracked open his eyes to see Riddle sitting across from the couch, long legs gracefully crossed. Harry twisted his lips into a frown before sitting up.

"Oh, shut it." Harry wasn't much of a morning person if he wasn't getting up on his own. Tom only scoffed again and closed whatever book he was reading. Green eyes finally focused on the red stain on the carpet, and Harry took note of the fact that Bellatrix's body was no longer there.

"Don't worry about her." Riddle liked to pretend he knew what Harry was thinking. Harry liked to pretend he was positive that Riddle didn't. "You need to be more worried about yourself." Suddenly, Harry was completely alert. He sat up to get a better view of Riddle, and then he wished he hadn't. Crimson and chocolate mixed perfectly to stare Harry down.

"And here I thought you were heartless." Harry was only partially joking, but Riddle cocked a brow anyhow.

"If you're implying that I care about Bellatrix's death, you're incorrect." Those tantalizingly long legs uncrossed themselves and muscles tensed to bring Riddle to a standing position. The older man walked smoothly over to Harry, muscled arms locking him in place as they placed themselves on either side of his head. "I was becoming bored of her, anyhow. And every time you're pushed to the edge," Riddle leaned closer so that their breaths mingled, "I become more tempted."

What Harry hated was that his temptation wasn't any closer to wavering than Riddle's. Green eyes wandered down to Riddle's lips without Harry's permission and continued down to admire a strong jaw line with the lightest bit of stubble. They snapped back up a moment later, and the sparkle in reddish-brown orbs told Harry that his admiration hadn't been overlooked.

"Well, I really don't see how that's my problem." It was a lie, of course. Every time Riddle got the urge to go after Harry, life got a little more complicated.

"Then feed your hero-complex and fix my problem." At that, Harry lifted his chin in defiance, completely forgetting about their close proximity.

"I don't have a hero-complex." He could nearly feel Riddle smirk against his lips, and Harry hated that he had put himself in such a situation.

"Oh, but you do. Why else would you lie and keep with Draco's story? Why else would you take Alek out without a shred of mercy? Why else would you jump into the battle between Bellatrix and the Blacks? You want to be the hero." Riddle got closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Harry's lips before pulling back again, smirk firmly in place. Harry stared for a moment, slightly dumbfounded at the fact that Riddle could be so gentle and taunting at the same time.

"I don't want to be the hero, Riddle. I just happen to have morals." Even Harry knew that his defense was weak, but just how much did he want to defend himself? How much was he willing to give away to wipe the smug smirk off of Riddle's face? A single second more of that dauntingly handsome face so close to his own gave Harry his answer. "I want others to have the chances that I don't." The smirk didn't go away. In fact, it grew larger, allowing Harry the knowledge that he had played into Riddle's plans like the simplest of pawns. Harry shoved the older man away. He hated the knowledge that he had only been able to do so because Riddle had let him.

A darkly musical laugh entered the air, and Harry frowned as he kept moving towards the door. The bastard was not getting the best of him again.

"I could give you those chances, you know." Those few simple words stopped Harry in his tracks. Riddle had already given him a job and a home. He had unwittingly shown Harry the means to make a family within his most trusted gang members. He was offering to take care of Harry on a romantic level, making sure that he wanted for absolutely nothing. Harry turned to face his boss with a small, genuine smile.

"I know."

**(***Iridescent***)**

When Tom left the high-end club without a new bitch on his arm, it wasn't for lack of sex drive. He had thought about it quite a few times throughout the night, but he knew that every time he got laid, it decreased his chances of being buried inside of Harry. With that in mind, he got into his Camaro and went home. He walked up the steps and slipped the key into the lock. He almost went straight to his room, but something stopped him: the light in the hallway leading to Harry's room was on. Tom's eyes narrowed, and his fingers curled around the handle of his pistol. He moved slowly towards Harry's room, tensing further when he noticed that Harry's door, which was always shut and locked, was cracked open.

Tom cautiously pushed the door open farther, sighing in relief when he saw Harry sleeping peacefully within. His fingers untangled themselves from his weaponry, and Tom had the thought to turn away and shut the door behind him. Thought, however, was as far as the notion got. Tom slipped into Harry's room with soft steps, noting the light twinkle of metal between the mattresses with interest. He continued to the bed, drinking in the way Harry looked in nothing but boxers and an oversized T-shirt. The T-shirt left his elegant neck exposed, and when Harry moved, the shirt exposed part of his back as well.

Normally, this would be the moment where Tom noted that if he didn't turn back, he never would. In fact, that may have even happened if the shirt hadn't shifted to reveal that not all of Harry's skin was the same. The right part of his upper back was scarred. A flash of fury spiked in Tom's veins as he thought of someone daring to touch what belonged to him. Tom moved closer with even more caution than before, careful not to wake his housemate. His fingers touched the scar lightly, moving the shirt further to be able to view the entirety of it. When he saw it fully, crimson chocolate eyes blinked in disbelief. Before he could pull the shirt down further to really examine the scar, Harry was moving, and Tom quickly straddled Harry's waist, pinning both of the younger man's wrists above his head with his left hand.

"What the—" But Tom didn't feel like being questioned at the moment. He wanted to do the questioning. He shushed Harry, and Harry, surprisingly enough, obeyed. Tom forced the shirt down more and stared at—no, _read_ the scar again.

_I must not tell lies._

It was feminine handwriting, and it was at least a few years old. Tom didn't know whether to ask who did it or why, and he wasn't sure how to get a proper response, since he hadn't exactly been invited to ask about the topic. He had promised not to pry. They sat in silence for a long few minutes, and finally, Tom found his hand moving away from the scar so that his eyes, used to the darkness by now, could simply stare.

"Riddle?" Tom heard the confusion in Harry's voice just as well as the light touch of fear, and, unable to help himself, Tom pressed his lips to the marred skin. It felt comforting, somehow, to have soft, scarred skin beneath his lips. Truth be told, he wasn't even holding Harry down any longer. His left hand was limp around the younger man's wrists. His lower body was in an easily maneuverable position. But Harry must have felt just as incredible, just as _right_ as Tom did because the young man wasn't pushing him away.

His lips detached themselves from the chaste kiss to beautiful skin, and Tom relaxed his hands completely, moving them to rest on either side of Harry. He held himself up just enough to comfortably hover over Harry, breath ghosting over the scar. His voice came out in a husky whisper that, for the first time since Tom could remember, couldn't be taken as a demand.

"Tell me."

**(***Iridescent***)**

_Harry sat in the detention room with a determined frown on his lips. Remus had enrolled him in the boarding school just a few months ago, insisting that he needed a proper education, and everything had gone to hell from there. _

_Remus had been nicknamed the Werewolf because of how such a sweet man could turn so vicious in the rink. The irony that he had been torn apart by a pack of wolves wasn't lost on anyone, least of all the people who put him in that situation in the first place: the Dementors. They had supposedly disbanded after Remus had saved Harry and killed their current leader, but the rumor had obviously been false. Remus had been killed by the very people he had saved Harry from, and nothing could change that. If there was one thing that Remus had been teaching Harry, however, it was not to be afraid to speak out. _

_So, Harry had told the headmistress of his school: Dolores Umbridge. He explained to her what had happened and that the Dementors had been behind it. He explained that the organization was not only back but alive and well. She had placed him in detention that night, insisting that he write 'I must not tell lies.' For "as long as it takes for the message to sink in." Harry snarkly said that it would take forever because he wasn't lying. Umbridge responded by telling him to remove his shirt. For a good minute, Harry just stared at her, but as she narrowed her eyes, he complied. He ignored how she stared at his scars in contempt and sat down at the desk. Her hand steadied itself on his left shoulder, and he ignored that, too. He dipped his quill in a bottle of red ink –as Umbridge insisted that old ways were better sometimes – and began to write. _

_Immediately after beginning, he stopped. Something sharp had dug into his back. Umbridge's grip tightened on Harry's shoulder, immediately quieting his yelp._

"_Now, now, Mr. Potter. The more you move, the longer this will take." Harry tried to turn to face her, outrage clear in his facial expression, but the object was still in his back. _

"_You can't do this!" It was illegal, he was sure._

"_Oh, but I can. You are a ward of the state, and who is more believable, the headmistress of a prestigious prep school or a rat from the streets? Besides, Mr. Potter, this is for your own good. Spare not the rod and whatnot." And Harry was forced into the realization that she was right. In this situation, at that moment, there was nothing he could do to stop her. So, Harry continued to write, and she continued to write with him. It continued hours into the night, where he began to feel woozy every time she touched him, with or without her sharp object. _

_Eventually, he just passed out._

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry finished his story just as quietly as he had started it, Tom still stationed easily above him. He had never told that story before, and Harry had honestly expected the memory to hurt more. Maybe it did, and he just wasn't getting the full effect of his past pain. Riddle's body over his, larger and stronger and just close enough for Harry to feel their bodies touching, made Harry feel secure. It wasn't as though that was the feel Riddle was going for. He had made it very clear that he would just as soon kill Harry as he would fuck him. But for that moment, Harry knew that Riddle wouldn't hurt him. If his past busted down the door in just a few seconds, Harry would even go so far as to bet that Riddle would protect him.

Just for that moment.

Riddle didn't say anything after the story. In fact, he moved from his place off of Harry and stood beside of the bed. Harry was thankful for the dim light and the fact that he hadn't had to look directly at Riddle the entire ordeal because his most revealing scar had nothing covering it. Instead of just leaving the room like Harry had expected, however, the sound of cloth hitting the floor could be heard. That sound was followed by the sound of a belt unbuckling and more cloth hitting the ground. Then the covers were in the air and Riddle was joining Harry beneath them, even closer than before.

Riddle had given him the courtesy of keeping his boxers on, but that didn't make Harry feel any less intimately exposed. He could still feel the older male pressing closely against him, and it didn't help when Riddle's muscular arms wound themselves around Harry's waist, hands slipping easily under his shirt. There was no doubt that Riddle was feeling some of his other scars. Hell, he was tracing them.

No matter what he was feeling, though, Riddle didn't open his mouth again, and if it crossed Harry's mind to protest, he wasn't able to act on it before sleep overtook him.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry was awakened by the shrill ring of his phone beside of his bed, and he lazily reached over to shut off the alarm. This plan was ruined, however, as he was made aware of the other person in his bed via strong arms holding him against an even stronger chest. It took only a few seconds for Harry to process what had happened the night before and even fewer for him to process the hard muscle pressing firmly against his ass.

"Riddle!" Harry may not have been entirely sure what had come over him the night before, but it certainly wasn't there now. Riddle ignored Harry as he reached over and picked up Harry's phone, flipping it open with ease and shutting off the noise. With that done, he carelessly tossed Harry's phone to the floor and pulled Harry even closer, if possible. Finally, he answered in a voice rough from sleep.

"What?" The deep tenor made Harry shiver, and Riddle's already hard cock twitched in response.

"Let go of me, that's what!" Harry struggled more forcefully, but it appeared to have nearly no effect on his predicament.

"Why?" Riddle didn't even seem like he was putting more effort into holding Harry to his chest. For all the energy he was exerting, Riddle may as well have still been asleep.

"Because I have to get to school." His struggles strengthened, and, as though Riddle had been expecting this, the arms simply let go. Harry, in turn, landed in the floor. Quickly, hoping that Riddle hadn't spotted his scar as he fell, Harry ducked into the bathroom, locking it behind him with a _click_. He didn't hear anything from the other side, but he wasn't about to chance his luck. Harry turned the shower to scalding and disregarded the burn against his skin. He wanted to scrub away the feel of Tom Marvolo Riddle on his body.

When he could still feel the man against him ten minutes later, he gave up and got out, instead focusing on drying off and looking appeasable. He brushed his teeth and combed through his hair, applying concealer perfectly before deciding it was safe to leave and wrapping the towel around his lower half to go find clothing.

Luckily, Riddle had, in fact, left Harry's room by that point. Harry grabbed clothes from his closet without really looking at them and pulled them on without much care to how they looked. He picked up his cell phone where Riddle had tossed it and shoved it into his pocket, leaving the room a moment later. Riddle wasn't outside the room or in the kitchen or living room. Harry assumed that the man must have retreated to his room, but he wasn't about to stick around to find out. He wasn't sure if they were supposed to talk about what happened last night or just ignore it, but that was something they could figure out at another time.

Harry went straight to class, settling into his seat beside of Cedric with practiced ease. Cedric looked at him with a strange smile.

"I see someone had a nice night last night." His tone was both interested and jokingly suggestive, and Harry cocked a brow.

"Huh?" Harry honestly didn't know what his long-time friend was talking about. The billionaire shook his head before explaining.

"I don't know. You just look… refreshed. Did anything special happen last night?" His tone, unlike most other times, was serious. Harry immediately thought about Riddle spending the night with him, and he couldn't stop the blush from racing up his cheeks. Before Cedric could comment on his reaction, however, Snape entered the room, trench coat billowing behind him. Harry's eyes met his professor's, and they held each other's gazes for longer than necessary. There was something… different in the way that he was looking at Harry, but the student couldn't place it.

"Your instructions are on the board. Get started." Harry turned to write down what was on the board, glad for a distraction, no matter what form it was coming in. Snape seemed to have other plans for him though, as his voice cut through the busy silence. "Mr. Potter, may I see you in the hall?" Cedric's eyes met Harry's own, both questioning what he did and assuring Harry that their earlier conversation wasn't over, before Harry stood and left the room.

"Yes, Professor?" He wasn't sure why he kept getting put in this position, but he didn't hate it. Snape looked him up and down for a long minute.

"Are you alright, Mr. Potter?" The question, like so many others that Snape had asked him in the past, caught Harry off guard.

"Uh, yeah. I'm doing well. Why?" At another point in time, Harry wouldn't have asked why. Now, they were teetering on the line between professionalism and friendship.

"You looked flushed is all." Harry was reminded of the blush that had rushed to his cheeks at the mere thought of a nearly naked Riddle pressed more closely to him than his current clothing, and he fought to keep a second wave of heat down. Snape, clearly taking his silence for something else, continued on. "Also, you haven't responded to my request over the Boy-Who-Lived, and I wasn't sure if I was placing too much pressure on you or—" Harry blinked. He had never heard the professor do anything close to rambling before, and he couldn't help but think that, despite Snape's age, it was kind of cute.

"I promise I'm fine, Professor. And, if you ever find the Boy-Who-Lived, I'll try my best to be there." He would definitely be there, actually, but saying something like that might give away more than he was willing to offer. Harry offered his professor a toothy smile, unsure if there was anything else he was needed for or if he was allowed to reenter the class.

"Mr. Potter, I—" He looked as though there was something important he wanted to say but apparently decided against it as he simply said, "Thank you." Harry offered another, more genuine smile before entering the classroom again. Cedric looked at him as he slid back into his seat, and the curiosity in the air was practically tangible.

"I'll tell you after class." Cedric was the only one (besides Draco) who knew about Snape wanting to meet the Boy-Who-Lived, though Cedric didn't know anything about Harry's own role as said boy. A nod was all Harry got in response, but it was all he needed. They would have plenty of time to chat after class.


	10. Shades of Grey

_**Author's Note:**_ _So, things are about to get a little more intense as my plot begins to unwind. Have fun!_

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Hmmm. Maybe; maybe not. And then maybe again._

Hermione looked at Tom with too much interest to be healthy.

"Why?" They were alone in the room, and she had stopped doing work long ago in favor of observing her boss.

"Why what?" Intimidating chocolate rubies didn't even glance up at her, but she didn't mind.

"Why are you toying with him?" That, however, made startling eyes rise to meet Hermione's own Nestle chocolate orbs. The stare was all the question she needed to keep going. "You smell like Harry, so I know things aren't quite as platonic as he likes to play them off, but I also know the look in your eyes. You're pleased that your plan is going smoothly. I know he's different from the others, Tom. Why are you trying to see him as though he isn't?" She didn't want Harry to get hurt. She didn't want Tom to lose the only thing that Hermione had ever seen make him somewhat happy.

"Because he isn't." Hermione was honestly surprised that he was willing to answer, but she wasn't complaining. "Harry Potter feels undeniably right beneath me, I'll give him that, but it's a physical compatibility. If making him cross over into emotional is what it takes to sate what I need physically, I have no qualms with that." Tom wanted what he wanted and he would do whatever it took to get it. He had always been that way. Hermione was afraid that he was so used to that, however, that he was mistaking a want for a need. Harry had made Tom get the closest to a genuine smile that she had ever seen. And Harry—He lit up around Tom, whether he knew it or not. He just wasn't as lively without the older man around.

"And if he falls for you?" She wanted to know how this would play out.

"I get what I want." He was back to his papers.

"And if he finds out?" What then? Harry wouldn't stay if he knew he was being played with.

"Doesn't matter." His voice was as smooth as sin, completely confidents in the words being formed.

"And if you lose him?" For a split second, Tom's hand stilled, his grip tightening on his pen. After that, he was back to normal.

"Doesn't matter." It sounded the same as the last time he said it: just as cocky, just as true, but it was really just an echo.

Neither of them spoke again.

**(***Iridescent***)**

_Harry lay on Vernon's bed, covered in fluids that he want never to have tasted and feeling pain in places he hadn't before thought of as painful. Those large, fat fingers had been inside of him as he kicked and screamed, and if it wasn't for Aunt Petunia calling on the landline, something else would have been there, too. As the electric clock on the bedside table flickered to midnight, signaling the end of Harry's eleventh birthday, Harry's hopes were crushed. There was no magical half-giant on a flying motorcycle coming to take him away to Durmstrang. He was alone._

_No letter would come, and no owl would deliver it. He would learn of no magical powers that he didn't know he possessed, and no friends would suddenly start sticking up for him when he was in trouble. If Harry wanted to get out of this hell, he had to do it himself. Harry ignored the pain in his everywhere as he fixed his worn, hand-me-down pants from around his thighs where they had been yanked. His hand reached into the top drawer of the nightstand, welcoming the thrill as his fingers wrapped around the handle of his uncle's gun. _

_That thrill was all he cared about at the moment. It was all he needed. Harry picked up his shirt from the floor and wiped as much of his uncle's fluids off of him as he could. Then he tossed the shirt to the floor and walked out of the room. He had checked before, when no one else was home, to see if it was loaded. This time was no different. He cocked it and made his way down the steps._

"_Freak! What are you doing? Get back upstairs before I—" Vernon cut himself off as Harry raised the gun to stare his uncle down. The phone slipped uselessly from Vernon's hands as Harry continued down the steps. "B-Boy, don't even think about using that." But Harry was far past thinking. His eyes were as cold as the moon and just as lonely. "Did you hear me, Boy? Put that gun away!" The threat was clear in his voice. In his eyes. In his posture. _

_Harry wouldn't take those threats any longer. The only thing Harry really cared about concerning his uncle no was the fact that the large man was blocking the door. _

"_Move." Whether his voice was hoarse from misuse or screaming, Harry wasn't sure. Vernon's lip curled upward in a disbelieving sneer, and Harry moved his finger to the trigger. He wouldn't say it again. Slowly, very slowly, Vernon took steps away from Harry's exit. Harry waited until he had moved completely before moving himself. He could just leave now. Forever. He could let their happy little family go on without him._

_Or he could shoot Vernon._

_It would be easy. All he had to do was pull the trigger, and Vernon would be dead. Harry wouldn't ever have to see him again. He wouldn't ever have to feel him again. He could return the pain that had been brought upon him all these years in a single blow. Harry's finger itched to pull the trigger. He opened the door with his left hand and was about to get rid of his tormentor when he noticed that someone else was in the room. On the stairs Dudley watched him, tears streaming down his face as he looked from Harry to his father, possibly for the last time. He was frightened, and Harry suddenly remembered his fifth birthday, when he had surely held the same look. Harry wouldn't lose sleep over Vernon's departure from the world, but if he knew that he had caused the same pain as the man who murdered his parents? He couldn't stoop so low._

_Harry left the house, and he never went back._

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry woke up gasping, and he was immediately pulled back down into strong, warm arms. Harry didn't fight them; just allowed himself to be held. He was too tired to fight the offered help of easing his haunting past.

"Are you alright?" The voice was a whisper into his hair, gruff from sleep.

"Yeah." It was a simple response, but Harry knew the other man understood. He always understood. Harry didn't regret asking to spend the night with him. He didn't regret choosing the bedroom instead of the guestroom. In truth, he was thankful to have had the courage to ask, despite the knowledge of the nightmare he was sure to have. No, in spite of that knowledge.

"You sure?" There was genuine care that made Harry feel almost as though everything he had been through was worth it. No matter the past, he was still able to obtain friends who truly cared, and that meant the world. Harry pressed his back more firmly against his friend's chest, humming in approval. "Because you were thrashing pretty hard there for a while." And that was when Harry realized that he hadn't woken his companion up when he had gasped and sat up. There was a large likelihood that the other man had never been to sleep at all.

"Did I… Did I keep you up?" He hesitated, unsure he wanted the guilt of the answer he knew was coming.

"Yeah, but it's okay. I don't have class tomorrow, and I'm always willing to help you, Harry. Always." The arms tightened around his waist, and Harry loved that he could feel so safe in the arms of 'just a friend.' Especially since his friend was straight. This way, neither of them would get the wrong idea. All he had to do was take comfort in their friendship. There was a long pause before the voice behind Harry resurfaced.

"Would you… Would you like to talk about it?" He was unsure, and Harry didn't answer for a long while. Really, he wasn't sure if he wanted to talk or not. He had never told anyone how he had escaped from his hell, and, as far as he could tell, there was really no reason to start now. At the same time, his best friend had never let him down before. He had always been there for Harry, in the good times and the bad. Well, at least from high school onwards.

"I'm not sure, Cedric. I just… I'm really not sure." There was really no other way to say it. Harry didn't know if he wanted – if he could handle talking about it. If Cedric became a confident for the night Harry had left the Dursley's, what else would he become a confident for? How much danger would Harry put him in by giving him that knowledge? If he ever found out that Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived…

He would offer comfort; protection. He would tell Harry that everything was fine and that he was a wonderful person. But he was an heir to a large company, not a fighter. If the man who had killed Harry's parents and given him the scar on his forehead ever came after him, Cedric would try and help. Defenseless Cedric who knew nothing of the true horrors of the world.

"If you ever become sure, one way or the other, I'm here for you." Of course he was. Because Ceric wasn't like Harry. He had a stable life and a family and a heart of platinum. He wanted nothing but the best for his friend, and he couldn't see any bumps in his future preventing him from providing his friends with whatever they needed.

"Thanks." And Harry really was thankful, but that was all he was.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry wasn't sure how to react when, a few sessions ago, Snape had asked Harry if he'd like to catch a cup of coffee. It was even more of a surprise when he had agreed to it. Cedric hadn't been happy with him when he shared this information. Hell, Harry hadn't been happy with himself. Having a coffee with not only his teacher but Severus fucking Snape was just crazy. And halfway through next week, he would have to actually do it.

"So, wait, you're really going to go through with it?" Dudley was just as disbelieving as Harry, and Harry smiled, though because of the comment or the fact that they were speaking again, he wasn't sure.

Well, yeah. I can't exactly bail on him. I mean, I see him every day but Wednesday, and you know how I am about saying no to people." If there was something Harry could do to make someone's life happier, he usually did it. Especially if it was something as simple as coffee.

"You always were one for making others happy. Even… even back then." Dudley hesitated, unsure if he was overstepping his boundaries.

"I only did what I was told back then, Dudley." Harry clarified, allowing Dudley the comfort of knowing that, at least this once, they could sit in the past.

"No, you did what you were told and, even with everything they – _we_ – did to you, you cared for us. You didn't just want to make the food well because it would stop the… the beatings." It clearly pained Dudley to admit to what had really gone on in his household, but the fact that he was made Harry's lips twitch bitterly upwards. "You actually cared if we enjoyed it, didn't you?" Dudley was looking straight at him.

"Maybe in the beginning." Maybe. It was hard to remember what, exactly, Harry had been thinking in the beginning. He only really remembered the fear, loneliness, and pain. No thoughts. Just feelings. "What made you realize the truth?" Harry quickly moved the spotlight over to Dudley, tired of speaking about his own pains.

"A boy turned up who was kidnapped a lot of years ago. He was beaten and starved and kept in a closet. The closet was so small, and suddenly I was reminded of the cupboard under the stairs. For a while I convinced myself that it was larger than I remembered, but then one day I—I went into the cupboard to get my graduation cap, and I noticed just how small it actually was. I realized that it wasn't big enough for a person, not even a child, to live in. I asked Dad about it. I questioned why we kept you there, and the more I questioned, the more I was forced to realize what we had done to you all that time was wrong. I told him that if he didn't come clean to the police, I would leave and never come back. He—he did what he's always done." Harry finished Dudley's speech for him with a simple,

"Blame me." They stared at each other solemnly, neither really sure how to go on.

"Yeah. Blame you. When he did that, I walked out, and I haven't seen them since. Mom has tried sending letters, calling sometimes – no post on Sundays, you know – and Dad has done the same, though more angrily. He tried to guilt and threaten me back into the household." Dudley paused. "Like I said, I haven't actually seen them since I left." He stopped after that, and Harry felt a small sense of satisfaction at finally seeing one of his tormentors displaying guilt for what they had done.

A lie. Harry felt a large sense of satisfaction. He had waited for one of them – any of them – to feel some sense of guilt for a long time. Harry supposed good things really did only come after they'd been given up on.

"I'm really glad you decided to give me another chance, Harry. If I hadn't been able to find you – if I had never seen you again—I don't think my conscious would have held up. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself, Harry. I mean that. Once I realized what had went on for all those years – _years_ – I started seeing you everywhere. I had nightmares about the past. I couldn't sleep and hardly focused on my friends; my job. You were all I could think about. My girlfriend left me because I was so obsessed with tracking you down that I kept ditching her. I needed this more than you, I think." Dudley moved his gaze from Harry to the table they were sitting at. "Thank you so much for giving me that." He smiled. Harry looked at Dudley, knowing that the man had truly been pained over what Harry had gone through, and for a long moment, he couldn't force a smile. He couldn't make himself be happy when Dudley had gone through so much pain at his expense. Then he realized that the pain made Dudley something different from what he remembered. The pain made Dudley human.

Harry returned the smile.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry looked at Tom when he walked into the office, and he knew that the night they had spent together had been a mistake. Well, sort of. He didn't regret telling Riddle what he had. The past coming out didn't give Riddle more power, it only took power away from his memories. And it wasn't like they did anything other than cuddle, if it could even have been called that. After all, who ever heard of the great Tom Riddle _cuddling_? It was more like sharing body heat.

Technicalities aside, he shouldn't have allowed the events to take place. And Riddle's smug eyes were why. They looked at Harry, expecting some great reaction. They waited for the heat to rise to his cheeks. They waited for want to enter into Harry's own eyes; into his very attitude. They waited for Harry to admit that he had liked the feeling of comforting safeness that he had provided. But Harry had never been one for ego stroking, and he wasn't about to start.

"Riddle." Harry nodded hello, and then he went to his usual place. Hermione looked at him with an odd mix of approval and disappointment, and Harry knew that she must know something of the night before. She was Riddle's trusted informant. She was one of the few in the office without a dirty job. She only had to infiltrate and report. Was it incredibly dangerous? Yes. Was she incredibly good at it? Yes.

"Harry, what do you think you're doing?" Hermione, despite her ability to blend in, was a nosy girl.

"Balancing the books, like I do at the end of every month." Harry spoke to her like she was questioning why the grass was green. She frowned indignantly at his tone, and he frowned back for the same reason. "Sorry. I'm not in the best of moods today. I'm just balancing the books." When Harry restated himself, he was much nicer, and Hermione's frown flipped to a smile. "Why do you ask?" He was truly curious, especially considering her phrasing.

"I was just wondering since Sirius was talking about having plans with you today, and—" Hermione couldn't finish her sentence for the noise the chair made at it scratched against the wooden floorboard before getting tripped up at the beginning of the carpet and tipping backwards. Harry quickly grabbed the top of the chair, before it could hit the ground, and placed it upright again, a stream of curses flowing from his lips all the while.

"Shit! I totally forgot!" Harry was proud to say that, as he ran out of the room, he didn't even think of glancing back at Riddle.

Luckily, by the time he got to the café they were supposed to meet at, he got to see that Sirius was just as late. They looked at each other, panting and red-faced, and Harry realized that Rodolphus must have reminded Sirius just as Hermione had reminded Harry. That knowledge made a laugh bubble up in Harry's tummy, uncontainable by any means. He couldn't stop himself from laughing if he tried. And, as Sirius began to chortle as well, Harry's laughter doubled. They both ended up crouched on the sidewalk, leaning against each other while gasping for breath, unable to say what was actually funny about the situation.

Maybe it was that their largest worry, for just a moment, was something as remedial as being late. If so, they didn't bother to think on it, instead choosing to enjoy the pain in their sides and lack of oxygen to their lungs and odd stares as people walked by.

"So… Rudy's out for the day. My place for dinner?" Sirius had been begging Harry to cook for him for a while, so the green eyed boy wasn't surprised. In fact, he was just trying to hold down more laughter.

"Sure thing." They took their time pulling themselves together before walking to Sirius and Rodolphus's house, chatting and joking all the while. Harry smiled while making an omelet to Sirius's specifications while Sirius retold stories of his childhood.

"And James—he made the lacrosse team his freshman year in high school, back when Hogwarts was still a high school. Before him, they didn't let freshmen so much as try out for the team!" Sirius laughed wholeheartedly. "Oh, you should have seen the look on Snivellus's – He's a slimy git. Pray you never meet him. – face when he watched Lily cheer for his worst enemy. Why, Lily despised James for as long as she could hold out, but there was way too much school spirit for her not to cheer for the team. Prongs, well, if only you could have met him, you'd know. He was the basically leader of our group." Harry didn't have trouble believing that. His father had always seemed to know what to do, no matter the circumstances. Even when—

"Not to say that we all didn't have a major role in our group. Moony was the brains of the outfit, figuring out the little details that we overlooked in our excitement. Prongs and I made sure that the right people were buttered up and set up the pranks themselves, making sure that everything went off without a hitch. Wormtail usually got us or helped us get supplies and watched our backs. We were a team, and as a team, we were all equals. Prongs—James—He just kind of took the leadership role sometimes, you know? There was an air about him that no one else could match. That's what drew Lils to him just as much as it pushed her away. She didn't want to be just another one of his fangirls – he had a fan club, you know, and so did I." Sirius paused to wink at Harry, who was plating their food.

"We were quite the lookers back then. I still am. Lily thought that he only wanted her because she didn't want him. Her pretty green eyes couldn't see that he was completely smitten by her." Sirius paused again, this time with a nostalgic smile as he cut into his food with a fork. When he continued, it wasn't about his high school life anymore. "Moony became a teacher, Prongs and I became FBI agents, and Wormtail—He became a traitor." Sirius hadn't tried his food yet. Harry took a sip of his juice, and Sirius looked up at him, pulling a smile to his lips. "Sorry about that. Just a little trip down memory lane." He tried to play it off, but Harry knew better. He knew that sometimes, the pain needed an outlet.

"It's alright. I'll listen to you whenever you feel like talking, Puppyfoot." Harry paused for a moment at the nickname, not entirely sure where it had come from, and was about to continue when he noticed just how still Sirius had gone. His fork had dropped to his plate with a clatter.

"What did you just call me?" Sirius's voice was slightly shaky, strained with a pain – a hope – that Harry had never heard before.

"Puppyfoot, but I'm not sure why. A slip of the tongue, I guess." Harry shrugged it off, but Sirius stood from his chair, much like Harry had earlier in the day, only he didn't catch it before it hit the ground. Sirius let it clatter.

"You—you're _him_." Green eyes blinked with confused caution at Sirius's nearly whispered accusation.

"What? Sirius, I'm—" Sirius cut him off, simultaneously shoving the table out from between them. Plates, cups, and cutlery clattered to the floor, but neither made a move to pick it up.

"_Don't lie to me!_" For a moment, Harry thought that perhaps the man was a having a relapse. Askaban was known to do terrible things to people, and they had just been delving into his past. "Please, don't lie to me again. You're him, aren't you?" The notion was dismissed in an instant. Sirius's eyes – the color of perfectly formed storm clouds that shone like the rain after the sun had returned – were clear. They weren't dazed or hazy or looking at something at wasn't there. They were staring into Harry's soul, asking the question that Harry had been avoiding for most of his life.

"You're Prongs's boy, aren't you?"


	11. Shades of Gold

_**Author's Note:**_ _Apparently there's some confusion. Harry was only molested (once by Vernon, right before he ran away), not raped._

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Lalalalalalala!_

Harry stared up at Sirius, silence surrounding them, unable to see how he had made the connection. There was a refusal on the tip of Harry's tongue. He was ready to play dumb. And then Sirius spoke in a dark, pleading voice.

"I'll accept your answer, no matter what that answer is." Stormy grey eyes stared into emeralds harshly. "Just, whatever you happen to say, don't lie to me, okay?" And then everything Harry was going to say fled from his mind. He didn't have any excuses. He couldn't lie to Sirius any longer. Harry wasn't even sure when, exactly, his cover was blown.

"How?" The age old question, much less forceful than Sirius's had been. But Sirius didn't immediately answer Harry's question, either. Instead, he stared into Harry's eyes before practically crushing the younger man in a hug.

"Oh, God. I should have known when I saw your eyes. You have Lily's eyes, you know?" He was rambling lightly, and Harry had to interrupt him. He needed answers, too.

"Sirius. Sirius, look at me, how did you know?" Harry had been so careful. He had survived in secret for so long. Slowly, Sirius's arms lifted his body above Harry.

"When you were younger, Prongs brought you to visit me under the guise of buying you ice cream. It was the only time we ever met. You—You didn't like the name padfoot, so you called me puppyfoot, and your… your dad, he called you his little—" Harry joined Sirius at the end of his sentence.

"Animagus." Harry didn't remember much, but he would never forget that nickname. Sirius sat up, giving Harry room to breathe and move himself.

"Please, tell me. How are they? What have they been up to? Why—Why didn't they try and contact me after I broke out of Askaban?" The last question was quieter, and Harry knew that if he gave Sirius any answer at all, he would have to give all of them. There was no way he could point out that his parents were dead without saying how and that would undoubtedly lead to who Harry really was. At least, the title he had been working so hard to cover up.

"They, uh… Sirius…" Harry had said his parents were dead to a million people, including himself. He knew the words by heart. It didn't hurt to say them anymore. Of course, he had never said them to someone who had befriended his parents. Sirius's eyes widened as he caught the drift, but he clearly refused to accept it until there was no other option. Harry sighed lightly. "Sirius, they died."

A resounding silence, much deeper and darker than any they had shared before, filled the room.

"I—I guess I already knew that. They never would have just up and vanished unless…" Sirius hesitated. "But how could I not have heard about it? How recent was this?" He wanted answers, and Harry was the only way to get them.

"A long time ago. And my uncle and aunt didn't want their names made public." Harry wasn't sure whether he meant Vernon's and Petunia's names or his parents', but Sirius didn't question it, so Harry didn't bother to clarify. "They died when I was five." Five little years with the most amazing people on earth. Not nearly enough, if anyone asked Harry.

"How?" Sirius wanted to know the details of his friends' deaths. Harry could provide the answers. He could. At least, logically, he could. In reality though, he couldn't get his voice to work. He couldn't give away everything he had worked so hard to hide. His mouth opened, it did. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He couldn't tell one of his parents' closest friends that they had been brutally murdered and he was marked to be next. He just couldn't. Sirius, against his brash nature, seemed to realize this. The older man smiled, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, and for the first time, Harry felt like he actually had a family. There was someone who would understand his situation and care for him anyways. There was someone who loved him. The feeling was so unfamiliar, so overwhelming, that Harry couldn't help himself.

He cried.

At first, he didn't notice it. His vision was a little blurry, and he was developing a headache, but everything else seemed normal. Then he felt water on his hand, and Sirius's body was pressed against him in a comforting hug. It wasn't crushing like the last one, but gentle and caring. The gesture wasn't one Harry was used to. He was used to being forced to stand on his own, no matter the circumstances. He was used to everything crashing down around him. To have a friend to lean on, a hand to help him up, it was unheard of.

Harry cried harder.

"Shh. Shh, it's okay. I'm here now. You're okay." Sirius sounded loving. He shouldn't have been loving. He was the one who had just found out about his childhood friends' deaths, not Harry. Yet Harry was the one receiving comfort. "You've been alone for a good while now, haven't you, Little Animagus?" The nickname sounded perfect coming from Sirius – just as it had from Harry's father. "Or do you prefer to be called Pup? Remmy used to call his boy Pup, and I imagine he got into the habit of using it on you, too." Sirius knew the only adults who had ever truly cared for Harry, and he clearly knew them well. Harry just wanted to sit there with Sirius and hear stories of those who had touched his life most.

So, he did.

He listened to adventures that the Marauders had went on and actions taken against Snivellus and how Lily and James held a mutual love for the book _The Misadventures of Neville Longbottom_, which was why James had been so insistent to read it to Harry as a child. The book had been the key to their first real bonding experience. Harry shared what little he could about their habits. He remembered his mother cooking breakfast each morning and his father teaching him the best pranks. There were drills that his father insisted on where they would all hide, only one of which required them to all go to separate places, though many only had room for Harry and Lily. Harry reminisced over Remus teaching him how to properly read and write, and he remembered the smell of scotch that Remus had before bed to calm his nerves.

Many times, Harry had crawled into bed with the man after a nightmare and the smell of scotch would help lull him to sleep while Remus would mutter something about always protecting the pups of the pack. They would go over numbers in the mornings and letters in the evenings, and Harry would get to pick what to do right before bed, which would always be story time. Remus never protested, though he had read the same book to Harry so often that sometimes Harry wondered if he was even looking at the words anymore. Thirteen years old and acting like he was six, Harry had finally started to get some semblance of childhood trust back, and the Dementors had taken that away.

Sirius growled at the mention of the Dementors, stating that many of them had lurked in Askaban, and it was by miracle of acting like a dog that he was able to slip under the radar. When Harry questioned this, he noted that when their storms of pointless malice and anger were taken out on the other inmates, Sirius would lay back against the shadows and wait for it to pass. He would only bark if he was threatened, and the Dementors figured that it wouldn't be as much fun to torture someone who was already mad. They shared stories for hours on end, and when Harry finally returned home and slept, he dreamt of four boys fooling around in a magical school, all blissfully unaware of what their futures held.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Tom, unfortunately, was just as confused as Rodolphus, Draco and Ron as to why Sirius and Harry were suddenly thick as thieves. It wasn't as though he thought that Sirius was any closer to getting into Harry's pants than Tom, as Sirius would never betray Rodolphus's feelings. Sirius wasn't competition. So, why did it irritate Tom to see them so close? Harry laughed lightly at something that Sirius said, an admiring light shining in green eyes, and Tom's grip on his pen tightened ever so slightly. He was jealous. There was no getting around the emotion welling in the pit of his stomach, but just because he could identify it didn't mean he knew why it was there. That in itself irritated him.

Why the hell did he care if they were close?

Tom would logically say that he didn't, but that would be a lie, and no one lied to Tom. Not even himself. Tom Riddle was jealous of Sirius Black. That thought ran through his mind long after Rodolphus, Sirius and Harry had left for dinner, and when Draco finally saw that he had no reason to stay, he left, too.

"Tom, you've been awfully quiet lately. Is something the matter?" Ron usually wasn't one for dabbling in emotional deals, but as a strategist, he knew when it was necessary to step in. He knew he was possibly overstepping his boundaries, and if it wasn't for Tom's inability to figure out his problems on his own, he may have berated Ron for it. As is, his pen slowed over the paper, and Tom conceded to the fact that if anyone could help him figure out a problem, it would be the strategist.

"I want to monopolize him." This wasn't like Draco or any other partner where Tom only cared for him physically. No, cared was the wrong word. Tom didn't _care_ for Harry. He _wanted_ him. He wanted Harry's body. He wanted the quick wits and playful conversations. He didn't want anyone else to get to experience that with Harry. He wanted Harry to think about him always and for the man to return the deep want Tom felt. At that, his hands stilled completely.

He had never cared if his partners reaped the same pleasure or even any pleasure at all before. Why did he need that now? Why did he need for Harry, not just Harry's body, to be solely his? It didn't make any sense.

"What will you do with him once you gain the ability to monopolize him?" There was no judgment in his voice. Ron preferred to stay on the sidelines and hold the knowledge of what to do next. Tom dropped the pretense that he was going to continue working and leaned calmly back into his chair. He would grow bored of Harry once he got what he wanted, of course.

"I'll use him and move on." Like he always did. The question was a pointless one.

"And let Harry be taken by someone else?" The question was cautious, as though Ron expected a less than favorable reaction from Tom, and he was right to do so. Irritation welled in Tom without warning, and he barely stopped a frown from appearing on his lips. No. He wouldn't want Harry to belong to someone else even once he was finished. But then, what would happen to Harry? Tom would be finished with him eventually. He had to. Would the need to keep Harry to himself even after they were done fade? More importantly, what would he do if it didn't? After a long, drawn out silence where Tom found no answer to the question asked, Ron ventured to present another.

"Tom, have you ever thought that you—you know, like Harry?" Ron paused, seeing Tom's lack of reaction. "I mean, romantically?" Still, Tom didn't so much as look in his subordinate's direction. "As a person?" Now that got Tom attention. Of course he had liked Harry romantically. He wanted to fuck the man. But to like him romantically because of who he was? It was something Tom had never considered before. Not once in his twenty seven years of life had he held romantic intentions towards someone as a person. Dating meant nothing more than exclusive fuck-buddies in his world. Gifts were tossed about without thought because he wanted them to work harder to please him in bed, not to make them happy. Tom had never had something as simpleminded as a crush. Did he now?

Had Harry James Potter appealed to him so much that Tom was beginning to care for the younger man?

"Of course not." He cared for certain people (his subordinates), but sexual want and care had never crossed with any of them, and it wouldn't start with Harry.

Just like that, Tom ended the conversation and went back to work. Ron was too smart to press the issue, and as his phone began to ring mere minutes later, the redhead bid his boss farewell. Tom, comforted by the fact that he was truly alone now, allowed himself to scoff into the silence of the large office. To think that such a thing was even suggested was ludicrous. To say that Tom had feelings for Harry was just as crazy as saying that Harry had feelings for Tom.

With a small frown and an extra flourish to his signature, Tom ignored the flutter in his chest at that possibility.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Sirius had left the house with Rodolphus less than an hour beforehand, but Harry's mind was still reeling, unsure of whether or not he was making the right decision by not telling Sirius how his parents had died. It allowed him to keep some semblance of normalcy, yes, but that semblance also tore at his mind like nothing else. What would it be like to look into someone's eyes and have him know the truth? Not to be judged or worry about hiding from prying eyes? What would it be like to let his scars see the light of day?

What would it be like for Sirius to finally have closure?

Was it really alright for Harry not to give Sirius the information he so longed to hear? He didn't seem to mind, but Harry could see in his eyes that he wanted to know; craved the knowledge of what had happened to his best friends. Harry was undeniably torn with no clear resolution in sight. So, he did what Remus had taught him to do: he went to the gym. Riddle was rich enough to have a small one built into his home (lucky bastard), so Harry didn't have to go far. Harry looked around the undoubtedly well-used space for a full minute, taking in the training equipment through the glass, probably bulletproof, wall before moving into the room. He was alone. Riddle would be at work for who knew how much longer, and even when he got home, Harry had permission to use the gym. So, why was he hesitating?

Green eyes looked down to the simple black T-shirt and black basketball shorts he was wearing. How long had it been since he had given his body a comfortable workout? With one more glance around the room, deciding that he was truly alone, Harry slipped off his shirt and tossed it onto one of the many pieces of equipment nearby. It was high time he let himself go, and this was the best way he knew how.

Harry would be lying if he said he didn't notice Riddle quietly entering their household a good hour later. His first reaction was to find his shirt and move to his room, away from the small, in-home gym and out of Riddle's line of sight, as the gym had to be passed to get anywhere else in the house. After that thought flitted through his mind though, Harry was hit by a much stronger urge to stay put. The older man had already seen or felt most of his scars, and the need to know if they made him as repulsive as he felt caused Harry's usually cautious nerves to steel in preparation for a confrontation. Harry kept working out.

When Riddle's light footsteps stopped in front of the weight room's window of a wall, Harry didn't allow his awareness to show via tension in his frame. He simply continued his pull-ups, super-setting to inclined sit-ups with a forty-five pound weight in his hands directly after. When he finished his four sets of this, he moved to push-ups. Harry would like to say he was ignoring Riddle, but the truth was that he was acutely aware of the hard stare the older man had pinned him with. He knew that his housemate's body was just as tense as Harry's own, and every time strong muscles ripped under skin, Harry felt the man get a little tenser. Or maybe a little more languid? Harry wasn't sure what part of him could tell, but he knew for a fact that Riddle was turned on without looking at the man, and what startled Harry about that fact was that it pleased him.

He was legitimately pleased to have his scars bared for the world to see and have someone still look at him as though he was worth something. Judging by the intensity of Riddle's stare, a lot of expensive somethings. That being said, when Harry did his workout routine, he couldn't exactly say he was doing it normally. There was an extra touch of languidness and a certain grace that was more exaggerated than usual. He would admit that he was good at imitating people, and much like he had always seen Riddle do, Harry made sure that his body exuded sexuality in those moments. Well, within reason. He didn't want the workout to be a simple ego boost.

When Harry finished with everything in his routine, he turned to see the fruits of his labor. Green eyes met brown, though Harry would swear that they were more red than usual, and he took in the man leaning against the door frame almost casually, if not for the tension running through his frame. Riddle's lips were pursed tightly and his eyes never strayed from Harry, who was moving to pick up his shirt, despite the stare-down they were having. Harry's eyes moved down Riddle's frame, pausing for a moment at the hard organ straining to release itself from form-fitting jeans. Harry wished he could say that he wasn't impressed at the outline presented to him, but he couldn't. Eyes rose back up to meet still-staring red-brown orbs.

"Leave." The singular word was as husky as it was sharp, and Harry cocked a brow.

"I thought I made it clear that I don't follow orders well, Riddle." Harry slung his shirt over his shoulder, feeling more confident in himself than he had in a long while, and Riddle's eyes followed Harry's every movement as he did so.

"I gave you my word that I wouldn't fuck you until you were begging for it. If you don't leave now, I won't be held responsible for what I do to you." Riddle voice didn't shake with desire, only deepened with clear lust, and Harry could suddenly see that the tension in the older man's body wasn't just sexual. He was literally holding himself back. Harry was no stranger to having a hard-on, but he couldn't remember ever literally needing to restrain himself. Of course, he had never had the object of his desires taunting him with no hope of getting release, either.

Suddenly, Harry's ever-mocking conscience tugged at his heart strings. It was one thing when Riddle's hormones acted up on their own. It was another deal entirely for him to have provoked the reaction. Harry's bottom lipped got sucked between his teeth as he wondered if he was really crazy enough to contemplate what he thought he was contemplating.

With a dejected sigh, Harry cursed his unmovable morals and walked slowly, almost reluctantly, towards Riddle's stiff form.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Tom frowned at Harry, wondering if the younger man was trying to push him to his limits. While Tom would respect Harry's boundaries on a regular basis, a warning had already been given, and Tom wouldn't repeat himself. But Harry didn't just walk close to Tom on the way out the door, he stopped in front of the older man. Green eyes looked into crimson-chocolate, and Tom saw resigned irritation, apology, and more than a dab of lust in his counterpart's eyes.

"This is a one-time thing, you hear me?" Harry's facial structures were firm, and as much as it pained Tom to do so, he placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and stopped whatever magic was about to happen.

"Why now? And if now, why only once?" Tom didn't like mixed signals, and if he could have Harry once, he _would_ have him again. There would be no backtracking. Harry looked torn, but his body language gave away the moment he made his decision, and Harry's eyes showed a sense of embarrassment that Tom had never seen before. It was delightful.

"Every other time you get like this, I've had nothing to do with it. This time… this time it's my fault." He seemed satisfied with that, but Tom wasn't about to let it go. He had to be sure that he understood what Harry was saying, not just hearing what he wanted to. Harry's eyes gained their usual embers, this time embarrassment along with irritation being the fuel. Finally, after gritting his teeth for a long moment, Harry spoke again. "I wanted to see if I could turn you on even with my scars—my scars in plain view." He looked away bitterly and then met Tom's eyes again, clearly not happy with his admission. "And I did. I'll take responsibility for my actions."

The emerald flames rose higher and Tom took the time to admire the light blush dusting high cheek bones. It was growing steadily heavier, and Tom's eyes immediately looked to the pink muscle that darted out to wet perfectly kissable lips. "Unless you'd rather deal with it yourself. You have around five seconds to decide because after that I'm going to—" Harry was abruptly cut off as Tom pulled their bodies closer together, attacking the lips he had been so attentively watching with his own. The kiss was rough but chaste, as Tom wasn't about to risk pissing Harry off enough to forfeit whatever Harry was willing to give him. Quickly pulling back, before Harry could start bitching, Tom felt a smug smirk slip onto his features.

"Do as you please." Tom knew his voice was just as sinful as his body. If not from his previous encounters than from the shiver that Harry was trying to suppress. His grip loosened on Harry's waist and shirt from where Tom had yanked the boy in for a kiss, and Harry gave the pathway to his room one last, unsure glance before kneeling in the threshold of the door. Tom allowed himself to lean slightly against the doorframe. He wouldn't need the all-out support, as, judging by the way Harry was only just freeing Tom's erection, it was his first time giving a blow job.

Yet, as Tom saw the light shock enter green eyes at the sight of Tom's size and the pink blush that deepened as Harry fully realized what he was about to do… More than that, as the last, unsure glance from wide emeralds was given to lusty chocolate orbs – practically nothing but rubies now – Tom felt himself twitch with desire. Clearly, Harry wasn't expecting Tom's member to move as he hesitated for another moment before finally moving to grasp the pulsating flesh.

Tom took a sharp breath, not expecting to feel such exhilarating pleasure at Harry's touch. Of course, the fact that it was Harry touching him probably had something to do with it. He had imagined this scenario more than once, but he had always told himself that Harry would never do his imagination justice. So, why did the ruffled black hair that replaced Tom's view of Harry's face make his stomach go wild, even before Harry's lips touched Tom's cock? Not that Tom could see those windswept black locks once his eyes fluttered closed as Harry's lips encased the head of Tom's member, a shy tongue sweeping across the slit.

Harry didn't give Tom time to think on his skill or lack thereof as he immediately took as much of Tom into his mouth as he could. There was still a good few inches left, but Harry made up for that by wrapping his lightly calloused hands around the exposed part of the organ. They weren't incredibly tight, as the young man wasn't entirely sure of what he was doing, but they weren't idle, either, twisting and fidgeting as though that would help Harry to adjust to the foreign object in his mouth. Long, elegant fingers found black locks without visual aid as Harry took more of Tom into his mouth, an inch or so hitting the back of his throat, and swallowed. He was probably just trying not to let the salivation drip from his mouth or choke, Tom knew, but it didn't make the feeling any less pleasurable.

A moan slipped up Tom's throat without his permission, and Harry hummed, amplifying the pleasure of what he felt. Tom was on sensory overload with Harry at his cock and the almost feathery soft locks tangled in his fingers. If that wasn't enough, crimson eyes opened to see flustered cheeks, his own cock moving between lightly bruised lips, and intense green eyes gauging his every reaction. Tom had held off orgasms for hours before, yet here, fourteen minutes or so into a blowjob, he felt a familiar tightening in his loins. Hands tightened in black hair to assure that Harry wouldn't move away, but it seemed that the younger male had no intention of doing so as, at the last minute, Harry forced himself to deep-throat Tom.

Tom's head jerked backwards and slammed into the archway of the door at the unexpected sensation, simultaneously releasing his seed into Harry's mouth. Harry coughed, choking lightly, but once he could pull himself far enough away that Tom wasn't jabbing him in the back of the throat, he gave a few more good sucks and released Tom with a small _pop_. Tom's back hitting the doorframe was the only indication that he had arched it in the first place, and hazy green orbs paired with glossy, swollen lips were all Tom saw as he gripped Harry's shirt and jerked the young man up to him.

Their lips connected, and Harry's own erection pressed into Tom's hip. If that wasn't enough to rile him up again, the odd taste in Harry's mouth did. No; the knowledge that Tom was the cause of that odd taste – that he had changed something so natural about Harry – was what turned him on again. Their tongues tangling in a bruising kiss while hands roamed; not only Tom's hands but Harry's as well, and then Harry pushed him away. Their eyes met, both harboring a deep sense of lust, and Harry slowly detached himself from the older man. Tom let him. They stood staring at each other for an unnamed amount of time before Harry finally straightened his posture and got his breathing under control, the back of his hand against his mouth wiping away any traces of what had just transpired from his demeanor.

But he couldn't see how mussed up his hair had become or the blush on his cheeks or the bruised, swollen lips that begged for more—

He could only compose himself so far, and once he had finished that, Harry walked out of the room, a simple question falling from his lips.

"What do you want for dinner?" Tom knew that it was an evasive question; a way to pretend nothing had occurred between them. Swiftly tucking away his half-hard member, the mob boss followed his soon-to-be lover with a predatory smile.

Harry wasn't getting away that easily.


	12. Shades of Teal

_**Author's Note:**_ _Hey, I kind of sort of sanded part of my finger off and couldn't type for a bit... Also, many of you have mentioned how Tom is a jerk. Well, I'm doing my best not to make them OOC, and, let's face it, the real Tom is a jerk. He'll never quit being a jerk; he'll just be a jerk in love. _

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ If I could own anything, it would be One Piece._

Tom stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, wanting more than anything to continue what Harry had started and simply ravish the boy. The knowledge that Harry hadn't simply been working out, but had been putting on a show—a show specifically for _Tom_… it drove him wild with possessive lust. Despite this, he forced himself to stay in the doorway. He knew instinctually that their current relationship was on thin ice and could crack in any direction. The waters beneath could lead to either heaven or hell. Actually, with Harry there might even be purgatory or a second Earth or even a magical alternate universe thrown into the mix. Point being: this was where their relationship track would be decided.

He may not love Harry or even romantically like Harry, as Ron had suggested, but he needed Harry to believe he did. He needed Harry to fall for him. And to do that, he had to act cautiously. What was it Rodolphus had said when attempting to woo Sirius? Something about needing to connect emotionally as well as physically, he was sure. Of course, Rodolphus was also convinced that the physical wasn't necessary as long as he held complete control of the man's heart. It was good for Rodolphus to hold such an outlook, as he wasn't getting anything physical, but that wasn't what Tom wanted out of this ordeal. However, Hermione would no doubt have near the same advice, leading Tom to believe that it was the correct approach to take.

So, Tom sat down at the expensive mahogany table he had bought a few years back and watched Harry mull around the kitchen. The way he moved made it obvious that he was trying to ignore Tom. He was too stiff and a light blush still painted his cheeks. Tom couldn't expect a good reaction if he just waltzed in and kissed the man senseless. That would lead to Harry's views of him being solidified in the negative, and Tom would never get what he wanted. He had to put forth an effort to connect to Harry, but what in the world did they have in common? How could he make Harry converse with him?

Tom stared at Harry, contemplating his options. Then, the devil smirked, and a plan was set in motion.

"My favorite character was Dumbledore. He put Neville in that situation knowing what would happen, knowing that Neville would do anything for the man who saved him. He wanted Neville's complete, unquestioned trust, and forcing him to lie in hell first was the best way to do it. He manipulated anyone and everyone at all points in time, even after his death." Tom could respect that. Harry paused, knowing Tom was talking about his favorite book but clearly unsure what to do with the information he was given. Tom waited patiently, a small, satisfied smirk playing on his face. Finally, without turning from his materials, Harry responded.

"Well, I thought you'd have chosen Voldemort, but I'm not too surprised you picked Dumbledore with reasoning like that." He hesitated, still trying to figure out Tom's angle, before going on. "I liked Hagrid the best. Everything he did was simple and kind; no ulterior motives or want for harm to come to anyone. He was genuinely kind all the time." The difference in what morals Harry and Tom valued were monumental, and Tom couldn't help the amusement he felt.

"I believed you would choose Neville, but your response makes equal sense. He was one of the few who did things only because he felt like it." Of course, his faith in Dumbledore had also been very easily manipulated, but Tom knew that respect could be found for the half-giant as well. After all, Tom's goal when he was younger was to become powerful enough to do as he pleased, when he pleased.

That goal had been accomplished, of course.

"You sure paid a lot of attention to a book you didn't like." Harry was still wary, but he was becoming more comfortable with the conversation.

"I never said I didn't like it. I said it was—" Harry joined in and they ended the sentence together.

"—boring and unrealistic." Tom paused, smirk falling from his face as he stared at Harry with more interest than before. The young man had remembered his words.

"I know. But you've disliked things for less than that before." Harry tossed a wry smile over his shoulder, and Tom found himself chuckling lightly. It was true. He didn't have a very high tolerance for most things. Perhaps holding a conversation with Harry wouldn't be so hard after all.

"I'll give you that, but whims don't take nearly as much conviction to carry out. Reading that book was a whim." Tom paused long enough to make Harry turn to look at him, and when their eyes connected, he went on. "Which reminds me, your whim to kill Bellatrix puzzles me even now." Harry's eyes widened at the statement before narrowing and the boy turned back to his work.

"It wasn't a whim." His voice was a whisper, and Tom knew that their little talk had just taken an exciting turn.

"I know." This time, when Harry whipped around, he didn't look as though he planned to turn back. "You seem to forget that I'm a murderer as well, Harry. To kill someone and continue on happily afterwards, you need conviction. It can't be on a whim. You have to be prepared for it. My question is:" Tom made sure their eyes were locked on one another's, "when did you prepare to kill someone?" Silence rang in the kitchen, and Tom forced the smirk he felt curling at his lips not to appear. If Harry knew how much he was enjoying this, he was more likely not to answer. Finally, after a drawn-out stare down, Harry opened his mouth.

"I'm only prepared to kill when my loved ones are in danger." He appeared pure-hearted to the end, but Tom wasn't fooled. A murderer was a murderer, no matter the reasoning.

"Which means you've been in that position before: choosing between a loved-one's life and another's." It wasn't a question. Harry answered anyway, leaning lightly against the countertop for more comfort.

"When I was eleven, I was going to shoot my uncle. If his son hadn't been watching, I would have done it." There would have been no regrets. Tom thought through everything he knew about Harry. Who could he have been ready to kill for?

"The boy who died." Harry would have been shooting for his sake.

"Yes." Green eyes darkened, and Tom knew that he was still missing a piece of the puzzle.

"The boy— did your uncle kill him?" Tom didn't know why, but it mattered. Harry's past mattered.

"It was…" Harry hesitated, and Tom saw what he was missing in the pained green orbs; he saw it not in the pain, but the bitterness. "It was suicide." Tom waited only a moment before reiterating what Harry had just said, testing his own theory.

"He was you." Harry continued to look at Tom, and the surprise entering in his eyes was followed shortly by a harsh, knowing emotion. Harry gave a smile that matched his eyes.

"Yeah." It was simple. Too simple for Harry to be finished. "The nice, innocent little boy who followed every order and waited—waited _patiently_ for a half-giant to come and take him away died, and I took his place." Honestly, Tom hadn't been expecting to get so much out of Harry, but he wasn't complaining, either. Suddenly, Harry's nearly hostile smile gained humor, and Harry chuckled slightly. "I bet your younger self would have hated my younger self." At that, Tom chuckled as well.

"I'm sure you're correct. I would have scoffed at you for hoping so futilely, and I would have hated you for being able to keep your innocence despite your situation after I had given mine up so easily." Harry was being honest, and Tom knew that he could lie, but at the same time, he knew Harry would be able to tell. Somehow, some way, Harry would know, and then any further attempts to have Harry as his own would be pointless. "When times got rough, I tossed my innocence away and bathed in the darkness that was trying to consume me. You kept your light shining through the dark times for as long as you physically could, and it paid off for you." At that, the smile slipped from Harry's face and was replaced by confusion.

"What do you mean?" As far as Harry could tell, they had ended up in the same position; that much was clear.

"I don't think that boy is as dead as you like to think." Slowly, still making eye contact, Harry made his way to the table and sat cross from Tom, all thoughts of cooking forgotten. He wanted to hear what Tom had to say. "Just look at us now. You're watching me with curious, trusting eyes, despite knowing that my intentions are less than… _pleasant_. You aren't guarded like I am. You may not be as pure as you once were, but you aren't tainted, either. You're still so innocent." In truth, Tom reveled in that innocence. It was refreshing, like standing under a waterfall after a long day, and he didn't want to give that up just yet. For a long moment, they sat in companionable silence. Then Harry glanced backwards at the half-prepared meal and returned with a small smile.

"You want to go out for dinner, instead?" Tom returned with something halfway between a smile and a smirk before pulling his keys out of his jacket pocket. The way they jingled when hitting each other was enough of a response.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry would admit that he wasn't exactly sure what to think of Tom anymore. What to think of Riddle. Harry wasn't even sure what to call him. After the incident in the weight room, the older man had spoken to him, really spoken to him. They had connected over various things, both respecting personal boundaries. He had actually had fun over dinner and then, on Sunday, they had sat down and watched a movie together whilst eating Chinese take-out. Well, a couple of movies. There was an action film to start it off, but they kept making fun of it, so it ended up being better off to watch a comedy. Yet the comedy hadn't kept their attention for long, leading them to switch over to a horror film. Not that it mattered as they ended up talking again, basically ignoring the movie.

And when Tom had leaned down to give Harry a chaste kiss before departing to his own room that night, Harry hadn't protested.

Tom… Was he Tom now?

It was hard to say. Two days didn't make for a changed man. So, when Harry walked into the office after yet another grueling session with Snape and saw his boss asleep on the couch (again), he thanked a deity in his mind. If the man wasn't awake, he didn't have to choose what to call him in greeting. Harry breathed a sigh of relief before walking over to the coffee pot and getting everything started. The grin he had tossed at Sirius as a silent hello slipped off of his face as he felt strong arms slip around his waist. Harry hated how comfortable they were and mentally slapped himself for beginning to lean back into them.

"Riddle." His voice was a warning, and a dark chuckle in his ear caused a shiver to run up his spine before the other man moved away.

"Still Riddle, am I?" Harry turned to see that the man hadn't moved nearly as far away as he had hoped, and Harry's lips turned down in a frown.

"Sometimes." Then green eyes blinked, surprised at the truth in his response. His boss would be either Tom or Riddle as he deemed fit.

"Wait. Did I miss something?" Sirius piped up, forcing Harry to remember that they weren't alone in the room. Green eyes wandered to the other occupants. Sirius was looking completely dumbfounded next to a mildly interested Rodolphus. Hermione was giving them a smug, knowing look, and Ron looked curious but unsurprised. Lastly, green met blue, and Harry noted that Draco was somewhere between horrified and disgusted.

"You two hated each other when you left Friday!" And he voiced his disgust without problem. Harry's frown didn't lessen.

"I never hated him. I just didn't like him." Hermione's voice drew his eyes as she questioned him next.

"But you do now?" She was clearly more interested than she was trying to let on. Harry pursed his lips and glanced back at a still smirking, still too-close Riddle.

"…Sometimes." It was the safest, most truthful answer he had. Hermione looked less than satisfied but still smug, and Rodolphus decided he could contribute to the conversation as well.

"I'm glad you're getting along better." He was genuine about his happiness for them, too. Harry couldn't hold his lightly displeased expression with Rodolphus's niceties and instead moved to a gentler, tired expression.

"I am, too." Riddle shifted his body, as though he was going to move even closer but decided against it, and Harry took that as his cue to move away from the coffee pot to the desk he had claimed when he had first been forced into the job. It wasn't as though he even had any duties today. He would just be doing homework.

"No, seriously. _Did we_ miss something? I mean—did you two spend all weekend _bonding_ or some shit like that?" Draco was clearly unhappy with the situation, and Harry chose to ignore the question. Riddle, however, had no such resolve.

"Basically." The self-satisfaction in that single word had Harry shaking his head in repressed amusement. Sure, he wasn't entirely sure what to think of Riddle anymore, but that didn't make the fact that the man could take such pleasure out of such a little thing any less entertaining. It appeared that even Harry wasn't completely immune to Riddle's dark charms.

"I wouldn't call it _bonding_. More like there wasn't really anything else to do." Harry tried to defend himself, but if the disbelieving looks were anything to go by, it wasn't working.

"Nothing else? Really? What about that Dudley friend of yours? Or the boy you were with in the restaurant?" Riddle was playing with him again, having moved to sit gracefully on the couch and watch him contentedly. Harry had been avoiding Dudley lately, but that would come to an end today. It was, after all, his cousin's birthday. As for Cedric… Well, honestly, hanging out with the heir instead of Riddle hadn't really crossed his mind. But why would he tell them that?

"They were busy." Brown orbs glinted with more of a red tint than they had before. He clearly knew a lie when he heard one, but for whatever reason, Riddle didn't call Harry out on it.

"Last resort means I made the list. Moving up on that list is only a matter of time." And Riddle was patient. He had pointed that out more times than Harry could count. He could wait until he was at the top. Harry didn't comment. Rodolphus did.

"I'm not sure who needs to stop underestimating whom in this situation." Harry glanced over at Rodolphus with a curious expression. He was showing doubt in Riddle. Or maybe faith in Harry? Usually Harry would be worried about over-analyzing the situation, but Rodolphus never said anything without reason. When Harry glanced back, the look in Riddle's eyes said the same thing. But that quickly changed to smugness, and Harry wasn't sure whether his emotions actually switched or if he was just really that good at hiding what he felt.

"I don't believe there's a question over who will win this little stand-off." His smirk was sinful and showed straight, incredibly white teeth and slightly sharpened canines. If Riddle hadn't been Riddle instead of Tom before, he definitely was now. Green eyes narrowed sharply, a fire igniting hotly in his irises.

"You're right. It is obvious. After all, narcissistic bastard tends to be a turn-off and you don't seem to be physically capable of toning that quality down." A condescending smile tugged at Harry's lips, the intensity blazing in his eyes only scorching hotter as Riddle slowly raised his brows, smirk never wavering. It was a shame. Riddle's redeeming qualities just couldn't seem to overcome his insufferable personality.

"Our weekend would suggest otherwise." Riddle's gaze was smoldering, and Harry hated how good the man looked while attempting to manipulate Harry's statements to suit his own argument. Harry's smile slipped into a frown.

"You're incorrigible." Harry broke eye contact and moved away to do his work.

"Dinner tonight?" Harry didn't look up to respond to Riddle's question, simply gazed contemplatively at the chemistry problem in front of him.

"No." Harry lightly wrote an equation on his notebook.

"Six it is then." Completely and totally incorrigible.

Harry didn't bother responding.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Dudley stared at his parents, unsure of what to feel. On one hand, they were his parents, and he hadn't seen them in a few years. On the other hand, he had hoped to never see them again.

"Oh, hello, my little Duddikins! It's been so long since mummy has seen you! How's your birthday so far? We—" His father interrupted his mother with a stutter he hadn't heard since he was a disobedient child.

"We brought you—we went out and got presents. Lots of them! Had to take two cars just to get them all here!" He was trying to please the overly materialistic side Dudley had as a child. Blue eyes stared unsurely while Dudley's mouth opened and closed without making any noise. Finally, he snapped out of it and tightened his grip on the doorknob.

"Mum! Dad! I don't care about presents! I told you specifically that I didn't want to see you again unless you were prepared to face the consequences for what you did to—" Vernon interrupted Dudley this time.

"_Don't _say his name around me!" He was shouting, and Dudley frowned, anger welling in his stomach. Petunia touched her husband's arm lightly to reel him back in before making eye contact with her son.

"Oh, sweetheart; you know how your father is sometimes. It's best not to bring up touchy subjects." She was defending him and avoiding any guilt that could be placed on her at the same time.

"What name? Harry Potter? Your _nephew_?" Dudley hated them for not seeing that what they had done was wrong and hated himself for being the same way for so long. Vernon's face scrunched up and turned an angry red.

"You can't talk to me like that! It's that _boy_ who's done this to you, isn't it? He's brainwashed you, didn't he?" Dudley didn't bother closing the door as he turned around and grabbed his keys and jacket. "Where do you think you're going?!" Vernon was angry, but Dudley could match his temper with ease.

"To see Harry!" The words were snarled, but Dudley's move to storm out of the house didn't go as smoothly as he had hoped when his parents refused to move.

"The hell you are! This nonsense ends _now_!" Vernon's face was nearly purple with rage. "I'm going to go straight to his work and make sure that freak never speak to you again!" Dudley's first reaction was to yell, but he quickly paled instead.

"You—you're what? You don't even know where he works!" Dudley was quick to shoot down what his father was proposing, but his mother put her hands up gently in a form of defense.

"Now, don't get mad, Duddikins, but you weren't here earlier when we stopped by, and we were curious to see how you were doing, so we may have… peeked around a bit." They—He was torn between anger and fear. They would have seen his address book. They knew.

Seeing that they were suddenly on the same page, Vernon turned and went towards his car. Petunia tossed Dudley an apologetic look before following Vernon to the car, and Dudley stared dumbly as the too-familiar car started up. As said car began to pull out of the driveway, Dudley quickly raced out to his own vehicle, barely remembering to shut the door behind him and silently cursing his phone for breaking on today of all days.

He had to get to Harry before his parents did.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry stared at the other men around him—Rodolphus, Sirius and Riddle—with a blank expression.

"All in." Sirius gauged Riddle for a moment after the word was spoken before pursing his lips.

"I fold." Sirius put his cards facedown and Rodolphus glanced at his own cards without touching them before moving back to watch Riddle. Another moment of this passed and then Rodolphus seconded Sirius' motion, leaving only Harry and Riddle in the game. Reddish brown met emerald green, and Harry called his boss' bluff.

"I'm in." He pushed his Oreos forward, never losing the humor in the fact that these men, with all of their money, enjoyed playing poker like teenagers stuck babysitting. Riddle stared at him before smirking, flipping over his cards to reveal a full house. Harry gazed at the cards in front of him with a frown before returning the notion with a smirk of his own.

"Straight flush. Read 'em and weep." And then all of the Oreos belonged to Harry, and Harry did a lot of work to count them instead of staring at the predatory grin on Riddle's lips.

"Why? When in a relationship, I believe the phrase, 'what's mine is yours' comes into play. Everything I lose to you comes right back to me." He was arrogant. Harry picked up one of the cookies and took a bite, ignoring the fact that he was eating their currency.

"We aren't in a relationship, Riddle." The words were monotonous by this point.

"We basically are." The cookie crunched between Harry's teeth and Harry stared, unimpressed.

"And just how do you figure that?" Harry was fully aware of the two pairs of eyes on him and Riddle.

"We live together—"

"By force."

"—kiss periodically—"

"Also by force."

"—and know details about each other that I highly doubt others are privy to." Harry blinked at the last statement, pursed his lips, and broke eye contact.

"Shut up." He knew the defense was weak, if it could even be classified as a defense, but Harry didn't really have a way to counteract that one. "Sirius knows more about me than you do, and we aren't dating." Sure, Sirius didn't know everything, but he knew who Harry's parents were, and that was more than anyone else. Riddle's eyes narrowed momentarily before going back to being amused. Before he could respond with whatever stupid remark would put the next round off longer than it should have now that Riddle had been knocked out of the game, the door slammed open to reveal a panting Dudley.

"H-Harry! I'm so sorry! I didn't know they would—" Dudley paused, trying to catch his breath, and Harry was torn between worry and confusion. "You—You have to get out of here! Before they—" This time, Dudley was cut off by a far too familiar voice shouting from the hallway.

"_Potter_!" Harry froze in his seat, half of an Oreo slipping unnoticed from his fingers. This couldn't be happening. Dudley's face crumpled in guilt and self-hatred as heavy footsteps got closer, and Harry barely noticed the way the other three men had tensed.

"…dear, try to hold back just a tad. This is a place of work." Aunt Petunia. Harry would know those voices anywhere.

"No place willing to hire that _freak_ is actually worth keeping in business!" Harry swallowed thickly. He was ten years old all over again, waiting for the beating that was sure to come despite his innocence on the matter.

"Harry, I…" but Dudley didn't have anything to say that would fix this. Vernon Dursley barged in with Petunia Dursley at his heels, and Harry shrunk back in his seat, trying to subconsciously get as far away from the door as possible.

"_You_! Undo whatever black magic you've put my son under right now!" He was an angry purple, and Harry opened his mouth without making a noise.

"There is no black magic, Dad! I just came to my senses and—" Dudley stopped talking as he was shoved down by his father, most likely more from surprise than anything else. Vernon had never struck his beloved son before.

"I don't want to hear from you until this bloody curse has been lifted!" He turned to Harry. "I know you're into voodoo magic just like your blasted parents were!" At that, Harry snapped.

"It's not magic, it's _science_! And you have no write to so much as think about them! My parents were better people than you could ever hope to be!" Harry was shouting. Calm, composed, unshakable Harry Potter had his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were turning white while shouting at his supposed family.

"Don't you speak to me like that, _boy_, not after I wasted so many years and resources making sure trash like you got what you deserved! I should have left you out on the streets!" Oh, how Harry wished Vernon would have done that. Then all of this could have been avoided. Harry felt a murderous rage well up within him as he took a forceful step towards the larger man.

"Got what I…" Harry couldn't even finish the sentence. "You made me believe the police were after me because it was my fault my parents were dead!" Harry remembered curling into a little ball whenever sirens would pass by the house, sometimes torn between praying to stay hidden and for the police to find him and take him away from that hell. He took another step forward, his voice a quieter, controlled rage now. "You _starved_ me and locked me in a cupboard under the stairs for _six fucking years_!" Vernon took a step towards Harry, his eyes damning Harry's very existence, and Harry hated the way he wanted to flinch back. As much anger as he had bottled up inside, he was still just a little boy when placed next to his uncle. Harry hated himself for it, but he was scared.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Six years. Six years of Harry Potter's life had been filled with abuse and fear. Six years had left him scarred and broken. Harry's fists were clenched tightly, but Tom wasn't fooled. When Harry got angry, he became a hunter; graceful, coy, and enticing. Anger wasn't the dominant emotion here.

Harry was afraid. He was afraid of the past he had thought was over with. He was afraid he would be forced back there. Tom had burned down his old orphanage for the same reason.

"And even that was more than you deserved! We should have killed you when we had the chance!" Dudley's father was a large, ugly man who reminded Tom vaguely of a walrus. It was unclear how this man was of any relation to Harry, who was enticing in every way possible, but it only made sense that he must be the uncle Harry had referred to in the past. That also made Dudley Harry's cousin (and thereby eliminated him as competition) but that wasn't as important at the moment as it would be in the long run. Tom glanced over to see that Rodolphus and Sirius were ready to kill on command. In fact, they clearly wanted to do it and were awaiting Tom's go-ahead.

Tom himself wanted to kill the man.

Vernon Dursley (the back-ground check on Dudley provided) had touched what was Tom's. Not only touched it but harmed it. He had marked Harry for all eternity with symbols that didn't claim ownership for Tom. He spoke about what Harry deserved, but he was too stupid to know. What Harry _deserved_ was everything he wanted handed to him. He deserved what Tom could offer him, and he wasn't accepting because his uncle had beaten it into him that he wasn't worth it.

Tom could have already had Harry in his bed if it hadn't been for the imbecile fucking things up in Harry's early years.

Was Tom being selfish about Harry's pain? Yes. Did he care? Not even a little.

"I'm not a child anymore, Vernon. You can't hit me and not expect to get hit back. You can't beat me and go back to dinner without care. Now get out. We're done here." Harry turned back to face Tom, Rodolphus, and Sirius, eyes immediately connecting with Tom's for what Tom perceived as comfort. Tom allowed him an appraising look that caused a small bit of pride to well up in green orbs, something that was reciprocated by Tom's own eyes simply for being able to make Harry feel that way. Their minute interaction lasted less than a few seconds, and then Vernon Dursley ruined it by smashing his fist into the back of Harry's head and knocking the youngest male in the room to the floor.

"Da—" Dudley didn't have time to finish the single, distressed word before Tom, Sirius, and Rodolphus were all standing and had their guns trained on Harry's uncle.

"That wasn't a very bright move." Rodolphus sounded just as bored as he looked, but Tom knew better. The Lestrange turned Black was just as infuriated by the cowardly attack as his boss. Slowly, Harry rose to his feet.

"H-Harry?" Dudley was frightened at the situation, confused as to why his cousin's co-workers were all armed, and unsure of what to do next. Tom lightly contemplated shooting him, too, out of dislike for the man's demeanor, but he doubted Harry would take that well.

"You… You stop this right now, boy! It makes sense that you would join some sort of—of _gang_ after running away, but this is unacceptable! You call them off _right now_!" Vernon was shouting, but Harry didn't look at him. Instead, he raised his hand to his head and felt where he had been hit. Blood decorated two of his fingers. Green eyes raised from the blood to meet what Tom was sure by this point were a very deep red with the lightest touches of brown.

"Call them off?" A bitter, condescending smile made its way to Harry's lips along with the blood-tipped fingers. The two digits were sucked into what Tom knew was a delightfully hot cavern, coming out clean a few seconds later. "I'm afraid I don't have the authority to do that." For the first time, Tom noticed that the colder Harry's eyes got, the brighter his malicious flame burned. It was destructive and all consuming; begging Tom to reach out and touch it. Harry broke eye contact for only a moment to glance back at Vernon. "You're at _his_ mercy now."

Green eyes turned back to meet red as both a way to motion the Dursley's attention to Tom and to let Tom see what he really wanted. Maybe that wasn't Harry's intention, but that was what Tom was looking for. His instincts sang for blood, but they were taking a backseat to Harry's desires this time. For whatever reason, most likely to get Harry to grace his bed (and his wall, desk, shower, floor, and any other surface they could find), he wanted this to end with Harry happy. Tom tossed Harry a smirk that could only be described at carnal before shooting Vernon in the knee, bringing the large man crashing to the floor. Without so much as batting a lash, Tom turned went back to his spot at the table and sat down.

"Sirius. Rodolphus. Escort them out." In other words, 'Do as you please, just don't kill him.' Dudley, surprisingly, made eye contact with Tom for a fleeting moment before mouthing the words "thank you" and rushing to help Rodolphus lift his father from the floor. When they were all gone, the door swung quietly shut, and Harry stared at Tom contemplatively while the older man lightly reshuffled the deck.

"You're going to have to replace the carpet again." Harry spoke lightly, and Tom raised a brow.

"I figured." If anything ever lead back to them – not that it would – even a speck of blood would be bad news.

"How did you know I didn't want you to kill him?" After all that Harry had been through. Stiil so much that Tom was unaware of.

"Who knows?" Because he knew Harry was kinder than he liked people to believe. Because he knew the sentiment would be appreciated. Because he knew that Harry cared that his cousin would have to suffer through watching his parents die. Without offering up a retort, Harry walked over to Tom, threaded his right hand into Tom's locks, tugged just hard enough for Tom to feel a light pain, and leaned down to connect their lips. Tom didn't ask for permission, and Harry didn't protest. There was still a light taste of blood and Oreos clinging to Harry's mouth, and Tom nearly moaned.

He loved both of those things.

Strong hands reached forward to grip just beneath Harry's ass and pull the younger man onto Tom's lap. When he did so, their members brushed, and the kiss broke just long enough for both men to moan. Harry nipped at Tom's lower lip enticingly, and Tom rolled his hips as encouragement, tongue delving deeper into Harry's mouth when it opened slightly wider to moan. His hands slid up Harry's ass and his subordinate's shirt, roaming halfway up his sides before moving back down and dipping slightly into the back of well-fitted jeans. Harry's torso arched against Tom's, both grinding them together harshly and forcing their kiss to break apart. Tom moved his head upwards to recapture Harry's lips, but the grip on his hair tightened again, sending light tingles down his spine and straight to his loins and stopping them for reconnecting. Harry stared down at Tom, and Tom swallowed harshly, the sight of Harry on top of him almost too much for him to keep himself restrained.

"Thank you, Tom." The words were whispered, and Harry slowly lowered his head once more, chastely pressing his lips against Tom's. Tom's hands moved from their position at Harry's lower back to circle around his waist and pulled Harry close enough that there was no space between them. Then, as lightly as he could, Tom pressed an equally chaste kiss in the juncture of Harry's collar bone and released the younger male.

No, he and Harry weren't actually dating, but they were close.


	13. Shades of Burgundy

_**Author's Note:**_ _Hmmm… I'm going to dedicate this to _**Insanely-Yours96**_, _**Candy3314 **_and _**meghan moloney**_. Why? 'Tis my whim. _

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ I'm a pirate. I take what I want._

Sirius had lost a lot of people in his life. He had seen a lot of friends die and been through hell and back. Now, now he was staring at the best thing that had ever happened to him and realizing that they didn't have all the time in the world to play around. His best friend could be ripped from him at any moment, and there would be nothing he could do about it. Rodolphus glanced up from the book in his lap curiously as Sirius did nothing but stare.

"Something you need?" Rodolphus' voice was deep and soothing, and Sirius felt his heart clench. He had noticed his feelings for the older man before, but he had always been too prideful to let the other man know about them. Now… Now he knew that if action was going to be taken, it had to be taken as soon as possible. After all, if Harry could take such a large leap, what was stopping Sirius?

Earlier that day, Harry had taken him to his and Tom's place and made lunch. They had chatted about useless things before Harry said that Sirius deserved to know the truth.

He rubbed at his forehead until skin-colored cream came off on his hand, revealing an old, lightning bolt shaped scar. At first, Sirius thought it was a prank. There was no way that Harry – _his_ Harry – was The-Boy-Who-Lived. That would mean that James and Lily…

But the look in green orbs told Sirius that it was far from a joke, and Sirius couldn't find words to express his sorrow. A car crash, he had expected. Maybe a shoot-out, since he and James had, once upon a time, been cops. But this? Torture and eventual murder at the hands of a serial killer? He had thought that the witness protection program was designed to _prevent_ things like this from happening!

Yet, he couldn't voice any of those thoughts, and Harry didn't try to make him. Harry, who had lived in secrecy about his very existence; about his family; about what he had been through; left Sirius room to grieve and feel comfort. Sirius didn't cry, but he felt his heart beat faster as he realized just how unpredictable the world was. There had been few words exchanged after that, most of them assuring Harry that they remained on even ground without asking for any details of how it happened. He thought about it, thinking that maybe it would help for Harry to have someone confide in, but then he decided that Harry probably didn't want to talk about it. Well, he decided that he didn't think he could handle knowing, but the other explanation sat better on his conscience. When they had went back to work, the atmosphere was a comfortable one, and Sirius had never felt more proud to be Harry's God-Father.

"Sirius?" Rodolphus broke Sirius out of his stupor with genuine concern lacing his tone, and Sirius walked over, pulled Rodolphus up from his chair (allowing the book to be placed quickly on the table) and pinned the older man to the wall.

"I love you." Sirius slammed his lips onto Rodolphus', and after just a moment of hesitation, the older male returned the kiss with just as much vigor. It was with bruising force, and Rodolphus bit Sirius's bottom lip lightly as a means for asking for entrance. He was considerate without being gentle, and Sirius loved that about him. Rodolphus delved his tongue into Sirius' mouth while hands touched everywhere they could reach.

Sirius broke the kiss to pull his shirt over his head and toss it away, and Rodolphus took that moment to do the same, hands and lips quickly returning to work as soon as the deed was done. There was no doubt that Rodolphus was curious as to Sirius' sudden change of heart, but he wasn't going to take this moment to ask. Rodolphus had been waiting possibly longer than Sirius, and Sirius had been holding back for pretty damn long. Right now, all he wanted was to have Rodolphus inside of him, connecting them to their very cores. And he would have it, too.

He would feel Rodolphus' strong hand palm his hardened flesh through his jeans and moan into the man above him. Some day, probably some day soon, Sirius would give Rodolphus the same treatment he was receiving, but for this moment in time; this round together; Rodolphus would do as he pleased. Rodolphus flipped his and Sirius' positions with ease before moving to undo the buckle keeping Sirius' pants up. Sirius himself had no such inhibitions as he simply yanked the loose-fitting cargo shorts down, revealing a hard and waiting organ.

At that moment, Sirius hated his pride for holding him back from this for so long; his denial in the first few years of their marriage that stopped him from jumping for joy at who he had managed to bind himself to. When Sirius raised his stormy grey orbs from their admiration of his husband's body, he saw deep, mocha brown orbs staring down at him so lovingly that Sirius couldn't help but kiss him again. Sirius pulled back before the kiss could get too intense and brought his lips to Rodolphus' ear, nipping at the lobe before whispering in a husky tone.

"The bedroom." _The_ bedroom. _Their_ bedroom. Rodolphus had invited him to move into it so many times before. Sirius knew very well that his husband had been prepared for this day. Rodolphus kicked his shoes off and stepped out of his pants and boxers, only taking the time to finish stripping Sirius before literally seeping him off of his feet and carrying him to the bedroom they would soon share. Sirius hooked his arms around his soon-to-be lover's neck and took his teeth to the sensitive jugular region. Rodolphus' left arm let go of Sirius, forcing him to adjust and wrap his legs around the taller man's waist, simultaneously grinding their already weeping members together.

Both men gasped out, and Sirius continued his gasp as he felt a wet, agile finger slip inside of him. Rodolphus had never been one to play around. Would he drag out the foreplay in the future to assure Sirius some sweet, sweet torture? Most likely. Would he be overly gentle with Sirius during desperate, needy sex? Not a chance in hell. And Sirius was fine with that. Rodolphus knew what he could handle better than anyone else. A second finger was added and Sirius had barely thirty seconds to get used to it before a third pressed its way in. Sirius clenched his eyes shut in discomfort band wrapped his legs more tightly around Rodolphus' waist, unintentionally pressing them closer together and sending a shock of pleasure through them both. Sirius immediately jerked back in hopes of repeating the friction, accidently shoving Rodolphus' fingers deeper inside of him and making him see stars.

"Rudy!" They had found Sirius' prostate, and that seemed to be all that Rodolphus needed to know as he removed his fingers and tossed Sirius onto the bed, climbing on top of him and pinning him with a dark, lusty stare seconds later. Mocha almost seemed to have lost the chocolate as they turned to plain coffee, so dark you could barely tell that it was brown. Of course, Sirius was sure that his own stormy grey orbs must have seemed more like a hurricane at this point.

"I love you, Sirius. More than anything." Sirius' heart soared towards the other man as he finally gave himself over completely. Sirius reached his hands upwards and threaded his fingers in dark, wavy locks, forcefully yanking the older man down to him and causing the tip of Rodolphus' penis, which had already been pressing at his entrance, to push past the first ring of muscle. Sirius held back a grunt of pain, instead letting it affect the gruffness of his voice as he spoke.

"Just fuck me already." Rodolphus grinned rather coarsely, and Sirius spent the rest of the night able to say nothing more than a mantra of Rodolphus' name and his own love for said man.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Ron was pretty sure that he had missed a memo earlier that week. Apparently, today was the day that people were supposed to stop pussy-footing around and admit that they held romantic intentions towards the person they liked. Yes; that was the only explanation for why Harry was letting Tom steal his drink, despite the coffee the older man preferred sitting right in front of him. The only plausible reason that Sirius was kissing Rodolphus before leaving the room. Blue eyes trailed over to Draco, sure that if Tom hadn't already chosen Harry, he would be re-shacking up with the man. The next person to look to was the most beautiful woman in the world, A.K.A. Hermione.

"Bloody hell. What did we miss this time?" His wife looked at him with her, it's-cute-that-you're-so-stupid look and smiled.

"Sirius finally admitted his feelings for Rodolphus, and Harry…" Hermione pursed her lips, and Ron immediately knew that she wasn't actually sure what had happened between Harry and Tom. They had heard about his extended family busting in (well, Draco hadn't heard, but that was irrelevant), of course. They didn't, however, know the details of the matter. Cocoa brown eyes trailed over to the two men, and clear, sky blue followed their trajectory. It wasn't as though the two were any more physically intimate with each other. Harry still glared at Tom, and Tom still tried to rile Harry at every possible chance. They still had their banter, but every once in a while Tom would pull something, and Harry wouldn't comment. Like the drink thing.

It was the most notable thing, and it wasn't much on its own, but the strategist in Ron wouldn't let it go. His phone vibrated, and Ron tore his eyes away from his boss, who had went back to doing his work and Harry, who had moved to looking over paperwork necessary for the business to continue its front. Bright blue eyes narrowed as he saw _Hermione Weasley_ shining from his screen. He didn't glance up at her in question, knowing that she wanted the text to be secret, and simply opened the text.

_They're in love._

This time, Ron couldn't stop himself. His head shot up to look at Hermione before whipping around to stare at the two men in question. They…

No way. Rodolphus and Sirius were in love. Hermione and Ron were in love. Harry and Tom? They couldn't even admit that they liked each other! To them, it was just one big power-play. And, via text, Ron made sure to let Hermione know that. Tom wanted control over the one person who kept defying him and Harry wanted freedom. As much as they clicked, they were hardly compatible. It would take something major for those two to overtake their shortcomings and come together to truly love one another.

Tom reached for Harry's drink again, and the younger man quickly snatched it up and moved back to his usual desk. Whether he had actually gotten an answer for whatever question he had been asking, Ron wasn't sure, but Harry was clearly finished with the older man either way. Reddish brown eyes watched Harry walk away for a moment, ever so slightly softer and quite a bit more amused than normal, before returning to the computer screen.

Or maybe it would only take a little push. Tom had never been the best at dealing with his own emotions. Perhaps the man just needed an amazingly strong dose of caring for someone romantically before he could really taste it. Maybe he wouldn't realize he was falling for Harry until he hit the ground.

Then again, it wasn't really any of his business. Ron hoped things worked out for the best for them either way, but he didn't have the urge to play matchmaker like a certain Granger-turned-Weasley. He would stand by Tom's decision in the end and, if possible, keep his friendship with Harry at the same time. For now though, he should probably focus on how to infiltrate the next district.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry flopped onto the couch when he got home, not at all looking forward to going out with his chemistry professor the next day. He just wanted to sleep. All the time. Forever.

"Six years, huh?" Harry tensed as the smooth-as-sex voice entered the room, and the younger man groaned into the pillow his face was smushed against.

"I thought we agreed that you don't pry." He knew they had agreed, actually, but Riddle was terrific with his loopholes.

"I spent seventeen years in the orphanage. Sure, I went off to a nice boarding school from eleven to seventeen, but the summers were still hell, and my classmates weren't worth the space they took up." Harry felt his upper body being lifted by the back of his shirt while Riddle sat down on the couch where Harry had been laying before Harry's upper body was released and dropped unceremoniously on the older man's lap. Harry frowned, picking himself up off of the other man and seating himself upright on the middle cushion. The sexy ease that Riddle held himself with while leaning back on the couch, long legs crossed elegantly in front of him and left arm outstretched over the back of the couch above where Harry was sitting, was more than distracting. Harry looked away.

"So?" Harry didn't want to play the sharing game with his boss. They shared enough.

"So what made you finally leave? I hated every moment of the orphanage, but it was an easy way to survive until I was capable of taking what I wanted." Riddle was being very open about his past, and Harry knew for a fact that he was being manipulated.

"They gave me the wrong flavor cake for my birthday." Harry hated being manipulated. He could practically hear the smirk in Riddle's voice.

"I hated it when that happened." Green eyes turned back to see Riddle looking contemplatively at the wall, not drilling Harry with an intense stare like expected. A small frown tugged at Harry's lips. Riddle wasn't prying. For that moment, it didn't really seem like he actually wanted to know all that much. Green eyes dilated slightly in realization.

"Do you even know how to stop manipulating people?" Chocolate rubies moved from the wall to Harry before a perfect brow cocked itself. Harry didn't clarify. Riddle's stare was heavy, and Harry could tell that even if he hadn't meant to be manipulative before, he was purposefully doing it now. Harry pursed his lips. If he wanted an answer to his question, he would have to answer Riddle's first. But was the information Riddle was going to give worth the information Harry would have to give up?

"He attempted to rape me, and I finally realized that no one was coming to save me." Like so many times before, Harry found himself giving into Riddle without full consent. For whatever reason, he didn't mind if Riddle knew about him. He found that whatever information he had to give up was _worth_ it if he got to learn a little more about his boss. Brown-red eyes narrowed immediately.

"He touched you?" There was more than one level of dark possessiveness in his voice, and Harry took in a shaky breath, trying to ignore the way his stomach fluttered and cock twitched in favor of concentrating the anger he felt over Riddle pretending like he owned Harry.

"Yeah." Harry wasn't about to give any more information on himself. He was angry at Riddle for thinking he had possession over Harry and angry at himself for not hating the idea. Riddle stared even harder but, Harry just glared back. Finally, The stare lightened ever so slightly, and Riddle leaned back.

"No, I don't." Harry blinked when his boss spoke. Green eyes narrowed in confusion. Riddle sighed possibly the lightest sigh that Harry had ever heard before clarifying. "I don't know how to stop manipulating." The older man seemed bitter about admitting this, and Harry was surprised that he was willing to do so at all. There was no lie in his voice; no tone of deception.

"Are you manipulating me now?" Truthfully, Harry wasn't sure. On one hand, it was certainly a productive way to get Harry closer to him. On the other hand, it wasn't as smooth and sure as Riddle's usual way. Chocolate rubies pinned Harry down harder than any physical force had ever done, shielding all emotion within.

_Not intentionally._

He didn't want to say it. Tom didn't want to admit that he was changing ever so slightly or that the change was because of Harry. With Tom, everything had always been intentional, and now that was changing. At least, around Harry it was. Harry swallowed thickly.

Everyone had always said that when he liked a person romantically, he would feel butterflies. Harry didn't feel butterflies. He felt phoenixes flapping their wings and trying to escape him; threatening to burst into flames and bring him to completion and rebirth at the same time. He liked Tom.

Harry James Potter liked Tom Marvolo Riddle. Suddenly, the phoenixes were joined by basilisks, and Harry felt closer to death than completion. Tom didn't like him back. Did he want Harry? Yes. But only to use and toss away. And the worst part of that?

Harry still liked him. The basilisks weren't fighting off the phoenixes, simply mingling with them. He knew what Tom would do to him; to his psyche; to his entire being, and he still felt this way. He still took pride in being the person that Tom wasn't keeping at an arm's length. Sure, he was only a few inches past that, but it was more than he had ever thought possible. Hell, he hadn't even wanted it to be possible! He hadn't wanted anything to do with Tom.

"I'm going to bed." Harry stood up, rather stiffly breaking free of Tom's intense gaze, but before he could move away, Tom's fingers curled around his wrist. They were tight enough to warrant attention but loose enough that Harry knew Tom was being his version of gentle. Not that Harry would be able to break free of the grasp, just that it wouldn't hurt him. That Tom wouldn't hurt him.

"Watch a movie with me." Harry knew for a fact that Tom didn't care for movies. It was an excuse to get Harry to stay in the room.

He hated that he couldn't muster up the self-control to say no.

**(***Iridescent***)**

When Harry met up with his chemistry professor for coffee, he was proud of himself. Tom had invited him out for dinner, and as tempted as he had been to break his previous engagement and go, his morals had won out, and he had resisted the siren's call.

"Mr. Potter, I'm glad you could make it." Snape seemed genuinely sure that he was going to be stood up, and Harry felt some of the anxiety over his realization over Tom fade away as he smiled gently at his professor.

"I told you I would, didn't I?" The man was clearly lonely. Harry slid into the booth across from Snape and, after ordering a coffee, turned his attention back to the other man. Dark, obsidian orbs observed him. Normally, Harry would think that he just wasn't close enough to see what color the man's eyes really were, but they were incredibly close, and Harry was fairly sure that they were actually just black.

"Yes, but… I apologize. You look remarkably like a boy I knew when I was in high school. His last name even matches yours." Harry worked to keep his posture easy-going and his smile genuine. "James Potter was his name. No relation, I'm sure. He was an only child after all, and his only child must be very… distinct." The waitress sat down Harry's coffee, and Harry was quick to take a drink, ignoring the heat entirely as he continued to look at his professor.

"Distinct, sir?" If Snape knew something, he didn't give it away.

"James Potter took the love of my life from me. I just feel like if I met his child, I would know." Harry's world stilled for a moment before blasting forward.

"The love of your…" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Lily Evans, yes. You… you have her eyes. If I didn't know any better, I would think you were their son." It seemed hard for him to talk about, and Harry briefly wondered why the hell everyone was opening up to him all of the sudden. Harry almost wanted to ask how Snape was so sure that he wasn't their child, but that would seem suspicious.

"The point is that I was the target of many pranks thought up by Potter and his gang of merry troublemakers, and an old part of me feared that this would end the same way." Harry took another large gulp of his coffee, concentrating on the burn he felt this time, as he tried to piece everything together.

So, Snape used to date his mom before she dumped him for Harry's dad who liked to prank Snape with the help of Sirius, Remus, and Peter? Harry felt dazed.

"I would never do that to you, sir." His voice was weak, but Snape didn't seem to notice as he smiled ever so slightly.

"Yes, I know." He was confident in his wording. "Don't worry, Mr. Potter. I would never put you in the name category as that ingrate." For a split second, Harry's anger skyrocketed, but he quickly calmed himself. Snape didn't know they were related, and with the interactions his professor and his father had in the past, Snape appeared to have good reason to think such things. Still, his anger wasn't missed, and Snape's eyes narrowed in response.

"I'm sorry. I just—" what reason could he give for his anger that would make some plausible sense? "I used to be called an ingrate a lot, so I'm not very fond of that word." Harry wasn't even sure Vernon knew the word ingrate, but apparently the excuse was something Snape could empathize with, so Harry got away with it.

If he had been speaking to Tom, it wouldn't have worked.

Harry ignored that thought in favor of surveying his teacher. The man wasn't ugly. He had a hooked nose and longish hair that looked slightly greasy. Dark, oil-black eyes were offset by the black shirt he wore, showing off his tall, slender torso. In reality, he was probably fairly handsome. If it wasn't for the monumental age difference and the fact that Tom Bloody Riddle had up and decided to settle down in his heart, maybe they could have had something.

Probably not though. Harry had way too much baggage to expect someone to stay with him. Especially with the dangers that would come if anyone ever found out he was the Boy-Who-Lived.

"An ingrate?" Something akin to a scoff came out of his normally regal professor's mouth. "_Please_. They used to call me Snivellus." The look in dark orbs told Harry that this was guarded information, and Harry couldn't help but grin. His professor was actually attempting to bond with him.

"That's it?" Well, two could play at that game. "I was Potty-mouth Potter because I wasn't afraid to curse in a stricter than strict school." Now a smile was twitching at the corners of normally stoic lips, and Harry felt a bit of pride at being the one to put it there.

"Did anyone hang you from a tree by your ankle?" The things that had haunted them in the past were suddenly ammunition, and Harry quickly loaded his gun. This was going to be fun.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry had trouble not laughing at the last tale from his professor, and quickly held up his hands in surrender.

"Alright, alright! You win. But I call for a rematch when I don't have an eight o'clock class to look forward to." Harry never thought he would actually have fun with Professor Snape. He didn't think he would be able to stand the man in a non-school setting. Snape smiled back. A small, incredibly genuine smile that Harry hadn't been sure existed.

"Say eight o'clock Friday? Dinner this time?" Green eyes blinked in surprise. His teacher was asking him out. There was nothing platonic about the way he asked, and Harry immediately thought of Tom. The anger the older man would feel. The possessiveness. The way he would make Harry feel wanted and loved just before throwing him out.

"It's a date."


	14. Shades of Chocolate

_**Author's Note:**_ _Hmmm… I'm going to dedicate this to _**Insanely-Yours96**_, _**Candy3314 **_and _**meghan moloney**_. Why? 'Tis my whim. _

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ I'm a pirate. I take what I want._

Tom wasn't happy. Why? Because Harry had said he would be out with his professor, his very _eligible_ male professor, for an hour at most, and yet four hours later, Tom was still alone. He wasn't stupid enough to think that he wasn't jealous. Tom had felt the burning emotion many times as a child. Before, he had felt it because others had what he wanted. Now… Now, he wasn't sure.

The door opened. Nearly red eyes glared at the new opening.

"Have fun?" His voice was darker than usual, Tom knew. Harry pursed his lips, drawing Tom's eyes but not lessening his irritation.

"Yeah. I did." There was a pause as Harry took off his jacket and placed it on the coat rack by the door. "I'm seeing him again on Friday." Seeing. Not meeting. A low growl rumbled in Tom's chest.

"Are you doing this to make me jealous?" Harry didn't like to admit it, but he wasn't a stranger to manipulating people. Green eyes immediately narrowed.

"Are you really so self-centered as to think that I would string someone along just to get your attention?" The words were biting, and Tom curled his fingers into a fist. Harry was the only person he didn't have complete control around.

"You don't honestly expect me to believe you're interested in him." There was no question in Tom's voice. He could always tell when Harry was lying and the younger man knew it. Harry took a step toward Tom before stopping, apparently unwilling to play Tom's game to its fullest.

"I could grow to like him. He's nice and sincerely cares about me." Harry seemed sure about this, but Tom knew that he was missing something. It wasn't as though he didn't realize that he couldn't offer Harry genuine care. Tom was well aware of his limits. But he could make Harry feel like he cared. He could make Harry love him. Green eyes glared, emeralds burning brighter than any fire Tom had seen before. Unless…

"You care about me already though." Tom felt nearly shaken by his own words. Something about Harry caring specifically for him made an odd feeling well up in his chest. Even more so since he knew he was right. The way green eyes dilated and focused completely on Tom; the way full lips parted slightly as though to defend their owner- Tom knew he had hit the nail on the head.

"Like hell." Harry had never been able to lie to him. Not once.

"You do." Tom's voice was deep and smooth, enticing whoever dared to listen. By the light shiver Harry's body unconsciously gave, he was sure that Harry was no different. Slowly, as though approaching an easily frightened animal, Tom stood from his seat and made to move towards Harry, who predictably tensed. "It's obvious that you're interested in me. Why are you still resisting?" Not quite obvious, but there was no reason to let Harry know that. The tenseness turned aggressive, and Tom waited for what was sure to be something he wouldn't approve of.

"Because it's _you_ we're talking about." Harry steeled himself, and Tom narrowed his eyes. "You don't care about me, Tom." Tom. The name had never sounded so sorrowful, and for the first time, Tom wished Harry had went back to using Riddle. "You won't ever care about me, and that's not good enough." Green stared intensely into red-brown. "I'm seeing him again on Friday. Go bother Draco or something." And then Harry walked away, shutting the door to his bedroom quietly behind him.

Tom stared at the door. Why did Harry always insist on doing things Tom didn't approve of? Harry liked him. _Romantically_. He was sure of that. So, what was the problem? Why, when all of his work was finally coming to fruition, was Harry choosing someone else? Tom felt like he was going to be sick. His body sank back into the couch, chin resting on his palm as he stared contemplatively at the wall.

What next?

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry despised how much he had wanted to give in to his boss' advances. Too much. If it hadn't been for that comment—that damn, self-serving comment suggesting that Harry was lowly enough to manipulate another human being's deepest emotions for his own personal gain – he might have actually given in. It was ridiculous, and Harry hated himself for caring so much.

But he couldn't help it. Harry felt safe around Tom. Maybe it was because the other man completely overpowered him, and therefore anything that Harry couldn't handle, Tom could. Maybe it was because Tom didn't have an ulterior motive. He wanted Harry because he wanted Harry; nothing more or less. Harry leaned against the door as his stomach growled. All he had digested since lunch was coffee, and it wasn't good enough. Green eyes clenched shut as Harry tried to remember the better parts of the day. He and Snape really had gotten along fascinatingly well. And Harry was sure that if they kept at it for long enough, he could learn to like the other man. He could get over Tom.

Couldn't he?

Harry forwent his angry stomach and laid down in bed, not bothering to change or bathe, instead simply closing his eyes and going to sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, it was to the smell of pancakes, and Harry's brows furrowed as he unlocked his door and moved to the kitchen. Tom sat at the table, shirtless with low-riding pajama pants, drinking a glass of red wine which Harry hated to admit brought out his eyes. Long, elegant fingers reached out to push a plate of perfectly round, golden brown pancakes towards Harry.

"I can do the caring boyfriend thing, too." As always, Tom wasn't shy about his intentions, probably knowing that any lie would only push him further from his goal. Harry looked at the pancakes, and he was suddenly glad that they weren't out of some sense of love and care. He enjoyed not mirroring his aunt and uncle's relationship with their overdone show of love. He liked how straightforward everything was and that neither of them felt the need to put forth any more effort than they felt was necessary. There was no faux love in the air; only what they really felt.

Harry took a seat at the table.

"You're right." The words tasted terrible on Harry's tongue, and he tried to wash them down with a bite of pancake, which Harry hated to say tasted amazing. "I do like you." Tom's eyes dilated, and the smoldering look sent towards Harry got him hotter than he wanted to admit. "But I'm not going to give into you. You can't just expect me to become your play thing, and—" Tom quickly interrupted him.

"What I like about you is your insufferable defiance. No one ever goes against me, Harry. No one but you, and that makes me want to pin you down until your protests are moans and those sharp claws you keep using to push me away are buried just as deeply into my back as I am into you." Harry opened his mouth to object, but Tom kept going. "You affect me more deeply than anyone else I have ever encountered, and I want to rip you away from my being just as much as I want to pull you closer. I honestly don't care what you want or think about our relationship. You will be mine, Harry James Potter." There was so much truth – so much desire – so much _conviction_ in Tom's voice that, for a full minute, Harry didn't doubt the words in the slightest.

"I don't want to be your play thing—"

"Then don't." Tom's words stopped Harry cold, and the other man leaned back in his seat, setting his empty wine glass down and folding his hands over his taught, muscular abs. "Don't be my play thing. Date me. Be my boyfriend." Harry blinked at the half-offer, half demand. Well, it wasn't the absolute rudest way he had been asked out… "I can provide you with everything you could ever want or need." Tom couldn't comprehend why Harry wouldn't be with him.

"You couldn't love me." Tom himself had counted out the possibility many, many months ago.

"Why do I need to? I accept you. I don't give a damn about your past, and I won't judge you for what you do in the future. Isn't that enough?" Suddenly, Harry realized that Tom was offering what the other man had always wanted. It wasn't about giving Harry what Harry needed. It was about giving him what Tom had always craved. He was offering the only thing he thought was worthwhile. Harry's heartbeat quickened, and he had to force himself to remember who was in front of him. Tom knew how he would perceive this. He was smart enough to manipulate Harry without trouble. There was no reason for Harry to believe that Tom had just randomly decided to pour his heart out.

But there was also no reason for him to lie. He knew that if he slipped up, Harry would be gone in an instant. Then again, it wasn't exactly 'pouring his heart out' as much as it was trying to rationalize with Harry.

"It's…" He wasn't asking Tom to love him. Just like him. People had to at least like each other to date. "I do like you, but we just wouldn't work, Tom." He had to see that. Red-brown eyes narrowed.

"If you won't date me, at least let me take you on a date. Any decision you make after that will be accepted." Harry stared at his boss.

"Really?" His voice was skeptic, and Tom's blank expression didn't change.

"No." Harry sighed. Of course the man wouldn't give up if things didn't go well.

"How much of that was actually true?" If Tom was willing to give up on that lie, maybe he would give up any others. Broad shoulders shrugged.

"Most of it." Tom was casual; sensual, and calm. Harry scoffed and leaned back in his own chair, picking up another pancake and taking a bite out of it in the process.

"Most of it?" He was calling Tom out on his lie, and the older man smirked, clearly pleased with the banter they had easily fallen back into.

"Enough of it." So, basically anywhere from a single word being a lie to every word but one being a lie. Harry shook his head. Surely he was a masochist for enjoying these conversations.

"Fine. One date." He could afford to skip school for a one day. This date _would_ be the deciding factor. Whether or not he could get over Tom in a short amount of time. Whether or not they could remain friends without Harry falling farther for the awful man. Tom's perfectly straight, perfectly white, perfectly sharp teeth made themselves known, and Harry couldn't remember the last time he had seen either a more sinister or more seductive grin. Long legs brought Tom to a standing position, and Harry's eyes were drawn to a taught stomach and the beginnings of a pronounced 'V' which looked far more tempting than it probably should have.

The soft, low-riding pants looked far too easy to take off at that point, and Harry knew for a fact that Tom preferred to sleep without boxers. Green eyes trailed back up, not missing the wonderfully shaped muscles of Tom's abdomen or the way his nipples perked up slightly from the cold. Even more of those perfectly tantalizing teeth and eventually stunning crimson-chocolate met admiring emeralds, and Harry cocked a brow.

"I can look, can't I?" Just because Harry didn't want to touch the man didn't make him unattractive. Long legs brought Tom's tall form to Harry, and the older man leaned over so that he and Harry were nose-to-nose.

"You can touch, too, you know." Tom took Harry's hand in his own, leading it from the top of a broad shoulder down over a pert nipple, past rippled abs, and to a final stop with fingers dipping just beneath loose pajama pants. Harry took a moment to realize that his previous assumption was correct about Tom not having any boxers on before pulling his hand out of the suddenly light grasp. A deep chuckle reverberated through Tom's chest, warm breath ghosting over Harry's lips, and the older man easily pulled away to go get ready. Harry forced himself not to stare at the elder male as he stood to do the same.

When Harry put on his black muscle shirt with the forest green stripe down the left side and dark blue jeans, he would admit that he was dressing to impress. The jeans were loose-fitting enough as not to strain him and tight enough to accentuate his ass and legs. The shirt did just as its name suggested it would, making sure his muscles were clearly seen and making a show of the difference between his waist and torso. Sharp looking black tennis shoes (courtesy of Tom, actually, when he said that Harry's worn-down converse weren't good enough to step into his office) adorned his feet. His black hair looked even more windswept than usual, but there was nothing that Harry could do about that aspect of him. His scar was perfectly covered, and Harry smiled at his reflection before leaving the room.

As soon as he did, he turned to go down the hallway and stopped in his tracks. However nice he looked, he wasn't on the same level as Tom. The taller man had a blood red V-neck on that showed off black chest hairs and accentuated almost incredibly broad shoulders. While Harry's pants were a darker royal blue, Tom's pants were so dark a blue that they almost seemed black, and Tom's legs looked nearly endless. His hair was perfectly adjusted to fall around brown-red orbs which were brought out almost too well by his shirt, and Harry's libido wasn't sure whether he preferred this gorgeous, well-dressed Tom or the half-naked, easily undressable Tom.

"We could stay in, you know." Dress up just to stay indoors and rip each other's clothes off? Not the worst idea his flatmate had come up with, but still not something Harry was willing to go for.

"You backing out?" Harry was taunting him, and the older male smirked before grabbing his set of keys off of the table by the door. Harry followed Tom without comment, barely reacting when he opened the door to a sleek white corvette instead of his previous green mustang. Harry had long since gotten used to the man's need to change cars every two weeks or so. "You know, I actually really like this one." It was sleek, and the purr of the engine starting sent an undeniable thrill through Harry's veins. It wasn't like when Bellatrix was driving and Harry feared for his safety, the car's safety, and Tom's reaction. Now, it was safe and exhilarating, and if anything happened, Tom would take full responsibility. Now, it was _electrifying_.

"Want it?" The car peeled easily out of the long driveway and hummed beneath them, and Harry could have laughed at the incredulity of knowing that Tom was completely serious. In fact, he did laugh at it.

"No thanks. Wouldn't want you to have to put more than one car in your driveway at a time." When Tom decided he wanted a different car, he didn't keep the old one and start driving another; he discarded the previous one entirely.

"The garage has two places just in case I ever found a car particularly liked. You can use it until I find that car." He sounded casual, and Harry cracked an amused smirk, admiring the way that the wind whipped hair out of Tom's face and the way the aviators glinted in the sunlight.

"And when you find said car?" The aviators tilted towards Harry at the question, and Harry caught a glimpse of dangerously intelligent orbs before they disappeared again.

"You should be finished with this car by then. Borrow a different one." As though giving expensive sports cars away was nothing. Well, it probably wasn't anything for Tom, but even without the need to manage his money wisely, Tom knew the value of it.

"Again, thanks but no thanks." He wasn't about to take anything from Tom that he didn't have to. The car slowed to a stop, and Tom removed his aviators, hooking them easily to the rearview mirror as he took the key from the ignition. His hair fell perfectly back into place, looking nothing like Harry's own messy locks.

"Fine, but if you change your mind, it won't take much convincing for me to give it to you." Harry looked over the car's top to meet Riddle's lustful gaze, and he suddenly knew that it would probably be a win-win situation trying to get the car at a later date. Tom walked around the front of the sleek vehicle to stand in front of Harry, chest only inches away from Harry's own. "You could convince me now." His voice was sultry, and Harry rolled his eyes without thinking about it.

"Riddle." It was a warning, albeit a light one, and the man smirked, giving Harry the impression that the reprimand was what he was going for. The elder man held out a large, calloused hand.

"Shall we?" Harry brushed passed the offered hand to take a look at their surroundings. It was ten in the morning, and they were in a dank, broken down part of the city. It certainly wasn't the prissy, upscale place that Harry had been expecting Tom to attempt to impress him with, but it wasn't a turn-off either. In fact, Harry's curiosity was officially piqued.

"Where are we?" The neighborhood wasn't familiar to Harry. Buildings were practically falling apart, their once nice paint chipped and yellowed with boards covering broken windows. Some houses even had holes in the roofs. "It looks like this place has been condemned." Grass was either completely dead or overgrown, depending on the yard, and trash littered the streets. Tom stopped in front of the flattened remains of what must have been a rather large home but had been torn down long ago.

"It has been. I had it condemned as soon as I had enough power to." He kicked at an eroded piece of concrete. "This is the orphanage I grew up in." And suddenly Harry saw a lot more importance in their trip. This wreckage of a building was where Tom Marvolo Riddle had grown up, hating everyone around him and perfecting his persona so that he could successfully do as he pleased in the future. Getting into fights and tricking the world into thinking that he was the epitome of flawlessness. Green eyes traveled over the rubble to Tom.

"Are you appealing to my sympathetic side by taking me to the horror site of your childhood?" Well, Harry never thought he would say that.

"Yes." Tom unabashedly pointed out his intentions, and Harry turned back to the rubble.

"Good move." It was cunning, conniving, and working. Harry felt connected with Tom now more than ever, and looking over the ruins of Tom's childhood, he wanted nothing more than to sit down and learn more. Everything about Tom both infuriated and entranced Harry further. The man was absolutely brilliant at basically everything, undeniably handsome, and Harry felt (for whatever God forsaken reason) safe with him. At the same time, Tom was a narcissistic asshole who wanted to fuck Harry and adored getting on his nerves. There was no question that sometimes Tom purposefully instigated their arguments. In fact, quite a few times Harry had caught him doing things directly after finding out that they annoyed the younger male. There was no attempt at subtlety.

But maybe that was why Harry found him so attractive. The manipulative bastard was straightforward, as contradictive as it sounded. He kept Harry on his toes, and if he managed to manipulate Harry than it was Harry's own fault because Tom had made it clear that was what he was trying to do from the very beginning. A small sigh escaped Harry's lips.

"You know, I really don't like being wrong." A firm chest touched Harry's back, indicating just how close the other man was standing, before Tom responded.

"What were you wrong about?" Harry didn't lean back into the feather-light touch, knowing that it would be seen as consent to what was going on between them.

"Narcissistic asshole _is_ my type." Harry could practically hear the wolfish grin that he was sure Tom was sporting. "I'm still not dating you though." And then Harry pulled away, leaving Tom and his childhood home behind. Tom's goal had been accomplished, and Harry liked the scene too much to stay. He didn't want to be here until Tom wanted him to know more. He didn't want to intrude on such a personal aspect just because Tom knew it would score him empathy points. The chuckle that followed Harry's statement was deep and rich, and Harry was fairly sure it was the first genuine laugh he had heard from the man. Ignoring the way that laugh brought the phoenixes in his tummy back to life, Harry got in the car. It was going to be a long day.

Tom slid easily into the driver's seat, his long legs bending to fit into the sleek vehicle in a way that really shouldn't have affected Harry. A smirk sat easily on his lips, and Harry looked contemplatively out the window passed Tom's head. He didn't bother questioning their next destination, knowing that the older man wouldn't tell him.

And when the car slid into a parking spot in front of a tall, ritzy looking building, Harry wasn't sure whether he was surprised or not. He had expected this from the beginning, yes, but Tom had seemed so insightful just minutes earlier.

"Stop judging and just enjoy yourself." Harry scowled at the order. Fine. If the man wanted to show off how rich he was, Harry wouldn't ruin his fun. He'd purposefully order the most expensive thing on the menu. In fact, he'd order the most expensive dessert, too. How much would Tom appreciate that?

…Apparently, Tom didn't care in the slightest. In fact, he seemed rather amused at Harry's poor attempt to spend too much and even more amused when the food Harry ordered turned out to be, much to Harry's displeasure, absolutely amazing. The steak was tender enough that he almost didn't need a knife, and if the sides got and more well-seasoned, Harry might have assumed an angel cooked it. And then the dessert! Harry would admit it: plan be damned, he didn't even look at the price. And the molten fudge cake with vanilla bean ice cream was more than worth it. It didn't help that their topic of conversation while eating was stimulating. Tom showed an impressive knowledge of government workings and lesser-known music genres alike.

While they were waiting on the check, Tom stood, giving Harry an expectant look. With a responding look of inquiry, Harry stood along with him, following Tom to a lesser populated part of the restaurant that looked almost like a…

"A museum?" There were impressive paintings and sculptures throughout the room, but Harry wasn't entirely sure why Tom wanted him to see this. He could admire art, yes, but it wasn't really his thing. Tom just kept walking, leading Harry to a small, dark room with a clearly marked "Exhibit Closed" sign. Harry tossed him an incredulous look.

"Come on." Tom easily slipped under the chain and sign, and Harry looked around to see that they were alone before whispering loudly at his date.

"Tom… Tom, what are you—Riddle!" Seeing that Tom wasn't stopping and if anyone walked in, he was going to look suspicious, Harry cursed and ducked under the sign himself.

The room had no lights on, and Harry looked around for his larger counterpart. Tom looked (discouragingly) good even in the dark, and Harry found himself remembering times when that firm body was pressed much too close to his own. As quickly and quietly as he could, Harry moved to stand beside of Tom, ready to voice his irritations. Unfortunately, he couldn't do that. Not with what Tom was trying to show him.

"Oh my God. Is that what I think it is?" Of course it was. Harry peered closer at the large painting of the large woman. Beneath the frame was the clear caption: _The Fat Lady_. It was the painting that guarded the Gryffindor Common Room in the _Misadventures of Neville Longbottom_. Harry was sure of it! He stared at the detail of the picture in near awe before turning to Tom. "Did you… did you do this for me?" Did he somehow find the picture and get it accepted onto the restaurant/museum's list so that he could show it to Harry now? Tom smirked idly.

"And I'm the conceited one?" As though the answer was a definite no. Harry stared at Tom.

It really would be easy to just give in. To let Tom have what he wanted. It would be easy to pretend that Tom really cared about him and that their relationship wasn't purely based on physical attraction. For as long as Harry held Tom's interest, he could pretend that their relationship was the real deal, and he could be happy. He could feel safe and useful and confident in himself and _not-like-a-freak_. It would be so incredibly easy.

But Harry knew he couldn't do that. He couldn't pretend for long because the truth would plague him until he acknowledged it and make everything all the worse. So, Harry decided on the only option he would be able to live with: He was going to finish his date with Tom. He was going to ignore the future for the rest of the day and enjoy this date as though they could actually have a future together. Tomorrow, he could figure out what to do about distancing himself from Tom. Today though…

Today.

Harry closed the two feet of space between them and pressed Tom against the wall, narrowly avoiding the long, tall table on the right side of them and the _Fat Lady_ on their left.

"Yes, you are." Harry threaded his hand in Tom's hair and pulled the man down for a searing kiss. He continued breathlessly between kisses. "But I called you," Tom nipped none too gently at his bottom lip, "arrogant," Harry tilted his head farther to the right both to give Tom a better angle at his mouth and to get a better shot at Tom's, "not conceited." Tom flipped them, Harry's back tingling from the pain of slamming against the bricks, the feeling somehow intensifying the pleasure.

"I know." The words were whispered hotly, and Tom's hands moved from lightly massaging Harry's lower back beneath his shirt to tightly gripping where Harry's ass met his thighs. The grip was tight, and Harry knew he wouldn't be able to get out of it if he tried. A low moan slipped out of Harry's mouth without his consent, and Harry felt his groin pressing harshly against Tom's own. Their mutual arousal was unapologetic, at best, and Harry barely registered the sound of the chain at the entrance rattling. Luckily, Tom somehow kept his wits about him and moved quickly, practically picking Harry up and sliding them under the table, the only thing saving them from being discovered the long tapestry draped over the table.

On one hand, Harry new that Tom didn't care to be discovered and had hidden them purely for Harry's sake. They weren't supposed to be in the room in the first place, and if that wasn't embarrassing enough, Harry's hard-on wasn't likely to vanish at the drop of a hat. Especially with the way he was positioned provocatively on top of Tom, their nether regions pressed sharply against each other and chests nearly touching. On the other hand, how the hell was hiding under a table, hidden by a tapestry any better a situation than getting caught?

Two voices entered the room, both whispering.

"Now, we aren't supposed to be in here, obviously, but I knew you would like it. You're the first to see, you know. But remember, I'm only on break for fifteen minutes, so try not to linger too much." The woman's voice was giggly and secretive, and Harry's turned downwards in a snarl: the closest he could get to cursing without risk of being heard. And then Tom's grip on Harry's ass shifted and Harry's penis was stimulated once more.

"Oh, Johnny! You're so sly!" Harry's lips opened in a silent gasp, and Tom's grasp moved, one hand resting firmly on Harry's ass and the other slipping between them, easily unbuttoning Harry's jeans. Harry's eyes widened and he tried to shift away, stopping both so that he wouldn't hit the table and because Tom's grasp wasn't loose enough to get out of. Not without a large struggle. So, instead, Harry moved the opposite direction, pressing his chest against Tom's and his mouth to its waiting counterpart. He was less likely to make noise if his mouth was otherwise occupied. Harry was surprised that Tom's hand left his member just as quickly as it came, but he thought for a moment that perhaps Tom had come to his senses and would be happy with simply kissing.

"Do you see this beautiful painting? I can't believe it's really in front of me!" The girl was happy, and Harry wished she would leave. And then the hand slipped back into his jeans, this time palming his ass. Harry pulled away, licking down Tom's jaw-line while virtually ignoring the other man's advances. That is, until a slick finger – the reason Tom had went to his dick in the first place, he now realized – circled his taught entrance before quickly pressing itself inside. Harry's back immediately straightened, and Harry grit his teeth at the intrusion, body tense.

Fiery green orbs glared as Tom made absolutely no attempt to look innocent, instead grinning, daring Harry to get out from under the table or even say something to stop him.

"I'm glad you like it, Jules. And I promise we'll come back once the exhibit is open so you can have more time to look around." Slowly, begrudgingly, Harry made an effort to relax his body, hoping that it would make their situation slightly less uncomfortable. Not that it mattered as Tom added a second finger just as quickly and inconsiderately as the first. He didn't waste time as he started to scissor the digits inside of Harry, and Harry hated himself when Tom hit something inside of him that made his back arch and his nails dig into Tom's broad shoulders. If Harry had any breath in his body to moan, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself.

Harry felt a soundless chuckle against his hair, hot breath on his scalp causing just as much irritation as arousal. Tom Fucking Riddle thought it was _funny_ to torture Harry. Well, two could play at that game. Harry ground his stiff penis against Tom, enjoying the way Tom's grip tightened on him, mouth opening against Harry's skull as he realized that the street did, indeed run both ways and that he couldn't make a noise either. In response, Tom brutally added another finger, never stopping his assault against Harry's prostate. Harry, of course, only pressed himself harder and faster against Tom, and the couple talking in the background became less and less coherent.

As Harry felt a coiling in his stomach, he pressed himself as tightly against Tom as possible and, when his orgasm finally hit him, bit down sharply at the junction of Tom's collarbone. Tom must have cum too, as the grip tightened and Harry's prostate was hit even harder than before, but Harry was too focused on the blood in his mouth and the post-orgasmic bliss turning his bones to jelly to mind the bruises he was sure to have. Tom's fingers slipped out of him as Harry collapsed onto the larger body, and the wetness of both their jeans made him grimace. Harry pulled his teeth and lips from Tom's skin and pressed them to Tom's lips, allowing the older man's blood to mix with their saliva. Slowly, Harry came to the realization that he couldn't hear the voices anymore, and he wondered how long they had been alone.

Harry pulled away and rolled off of Tom, getting out from under the table and standing back up a moment later. Tom followed him, and Harry took pride in just how disheveled the man looked. And then he saw the stain on Tom's pants, looking just as ridiculous as Harry was sure that he, himself looked. Suddenly, he wasn't sure why, but the entire situation was hilarious. Harry felt stupid and ecstatic and giggly all at once, and when his eyes met Tom's, the feeling only amplified. A goofy smile made its way to Harry's face, and he did the first thing he could think of: punched Tom on the arm. Out of the corner of his eye, as he fixed his pants, Harry saw Tom gently touch his injured bicep. His silly grin turned into a devious smirk as he looked fully at Tom again.

"Now we can both have bruises." And for a moment, it really was humorous. Then Harry realized where they were. "Shit! Tom, how are we going to get out of here?" It was blatantly obvious what they had been doing. Tom merely waved a hand in dismissal.

"I know a back way out. The car is nearby it." As though he planned this. Green eyes narrowed. Tom had planned this. The arrogant bastard.

"And what about the check, huh?" They still hadn't paid. And for all that they had ordered, there was no way Harry wanted to dine-and-dash the place. Embarrassment or no. Tom's smirk became mischievous as he took Harry's hand in his own, threading their fingers together before leading Harry towards a different door than the one they entered through.

"I own the place." At the words, Harry shook his head, unable to suppress an incredulous grin.

"Conceited bastard." Crimson-chocolate eyes glanced back to Harry before looking around the parking lot, hand tightening around Harry's smaller one to let the younger man know that they were about to make a run for the corvette.

"Not conceited. _Arrogant_."

And if anyone saw them making a break for the car, they didn't voice it.


	15. Shades of Fuchsia

_**Author's Note:**_ _Oh dear. So much to do, so little time to do it in. I won't lie to you all. I almost lost interest in writing this, and while I never quit, when my interest wanes, I tend to rush things. My inspiration to go on comes from __Jewels Amongst Stones__ by __**Eschient**__. I don't know if he or she reads this, but on the rare chance that he or she does, I want to toss out a thank you. I'm excited for your story to continue as well, and I wish you the best with your writer's block!_

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Hmm… Yeah, I got nothin'._

Immediately after getting back, Harry went into his room and stripped, changing into sweat pants and a loose T-shirt. When he emerged from his room, Tom had already done the same and seated himself on the couch, a tumbler of scotch sitting idly in his hand. Red-brown orbs met flaming green and a roguish grin stretched across perfect lips. Harry rolled his eyes but didn't bother fighting the urge to smile back.

"I take it you enjoyed yourself?" Green eyes narrowed and the smile gained a dangerous glint. Tom wanted to preen about how well his planning had worked out.

"It was an… experience." Just enough emphasis on 'experience' so that it could be taken either positively or negatively. Just enough relaxation in his posture to seem nonchalant about the entire ordeal.

"You know you've never been able to lie to me." It wasn't a question, and Tom clearly looked amused at his attempt. Harry shrugged.

"The way I figure it, if I don't stroke your ego you'll just do it yourself, so why exert the effort?" Harry knew that Tom liked the phrase 'stroke you ego' and used that to his advantage. Tom sipped from his tumbler before setting it gently down on the table beside him. His sinfully long legs moved, tensed, and flexed to hold his weight as he stood, continuing to do so as he moved slowly towards Harry: a predator in every sense of the word.

"Keep it up. A few more of these dates and you'll be more than willing to stroke whatever I want you to stroke." Harry's smile fell slightly before gaining a challenging edge.

"And what makes you think I want to go on another date with you?" Harry didn't want to think about other dates. The day wasn't over yet, and tomorrow wasn't in existence. He didn't want to have to think about turning Tom down until he absolutely had to.

"My reservation at _Longhorn Steakhouse _tomorrow night." He had already planned for Harry's agreement. The green eyed boy's smile disappeared completely.

"I'm going out with Severus tomorrow. You know that." And Tom's smile followed Harry's.

"What?" Probably the least articulate thing Tom had ever said, but Harry couldn't bring himself to laugh at it.

"Tom, I already told you—" Tom interrupted Harry with a snarl.

"Don't pull this shit. You enjoyed our date! Why would you—" Harry interrupted Tom right back.

"So? This doesn't change anything. It isn't hard to go out and have fun for a couple of hours. Having a relationship though? That's hard. And you're just not cut out for it." He really wasn't. Tom was rough, crass, manipulative, and he would never stop being at odds with Harry. But Harry had a quick temper, a sharp tongue, and preferred constantly being challenged to a peaceful life. Tom wasn't cut out for a regular, healthy relationship, but neither was Harry, which was probably why this moment hurt so much.

The ball was over, and there wasn't even a glass slipper to remember it by. He had to let the prince go.

"I don't have to be cut out for a relationship. I'm cut out for _you_!" Harry almost choked at his boss' words. How long had he wanted to be told something like that?

"Yeah?" Harry felt no pride at keeping his voice from cracking. "Well, maybe I'm not cut out for you." He almost felt as though he was looking at his body from the outside-in, wanting to flinch from the coldness of his own voice. But if he let anything other than rejection into his voice, Tom would know. He'd see through Harry's lies in a split second, and his tactics would change from anger, which Harry could work with, to sweet words and gentle caresses, which Harry would crumble under.

Red-brown eyes stared at Harry, searching for a lie of any form, but just as it seemed Harry was better at lying when absolutely necessary, Tom was worse at catching the lies when distressed.

"You don't mean that." Tom's voice was harsh, but for once it was Harry who spotted the sliver of unsureness behind it, and Harry clung to that as he moved to turn away, not intending to respond. Tom grabbed his bicep and turned him back around. "Stop fucking walking away from me!" Harry had never heard Tom shout before, and if emotions hadn't been running high before, they certainly were now.

Harry punched his boss right across his perfectly high cheek bones. Tom's grip on his arms only tightened, and Tom returned the blow with just as much, if not more force, at the same time letting his arm go and sending Harry sprawling to the floor. Harry was quick to react, leg shooting out to ram into Tom's shin and knocking the other man off balance just long enough for Harry to spring to his feet and slam a fist into Tom's abdomen. Well, he tried, but Tom's hand curled around Harry's wrist before he could inflict the full force of the blow and jerked it to the side, just barely not spraining it. Harry felt himself being flipped around before his front was slammed against the wall, arm twisted painfully behind his back.

Riddle pressed himself fully against Harry, hard-on full and ready and hiding none of the other man's intentions. Harry's left elbow swung back and caught the mob boss in the throat, the older man's surprise giving him just enough wiggle room to get free, swing around, and shove his foot against Riddle's chest. The other male stumbled backwards, still catching his breath from the last blow. Harry moved to run to the weight room, looking to gain ground, but Riddle was faster, foot digging into the back of Harry's knee and sending him back to the ground. Riddle was pinning down Harry a second later, his heavily muscled and just plain heavy body giving Harry no leeway for movement. Nails dug into Harry's wrists as they were pinned above his head and Riddle's other hand shoving Harry's face into the carpet, an _almost_ unnecessary amount of force being put into his restraint. Almost because if there was any less, Harry may have found a way out of it.

"Fucking _damn it_, Riddle!" Harry would have said more, but Riddle maneuvered his face so that he was basically eating and breathing carpet. Hot breath washed over Harry's ear along with a dark chuckle.

"So I'm Riddle again, am I?" Harry stopped breathing for a moment as more force was applied to his head, but it ended quickly. "And here I thought I was the sadist. Do you enjoy drawing me close just to toss me away again? Do you like seeing me actually _trying_ to stabilize something between us, all the while laughing at me behind my back with your God damned _professor_? Or is he _Severus_ now that I'm _Riddle_?" Harry hadn't expected this confrontation to go well, but this hadn't exactly been on his agenda, either. Why not though, he wasn't sure.

Tom Riddle was a murderer. He tortured and used and tossed people away without batting a lash. Double crossing, seducing, and back stabbing were all in a night's work. Harry knew full and well that his boss was violent, so it couldn't be that he was surprised. He couldn't even claim to be disgusted or offended by this turn of events. Violence had always been a major part of Harry's life, and in some sick, twisted way, this was a turn-on. Maybe because, against all odds, against every single fact he was being presented with, Harry still felt safe. It was stupid and illogical; he knew that, too. Riddle might rough him up, but he would only give it as good as he got it, if not a little worse.

Stable, healthy, and peaceful would never describe their relationship, and with tonight, neither of them would ever get the chance to fully appreciate that. Harry dragged his face across the carpet to free his airways, in the back of his mind knowing that Riddle was _allowing_ him to make even such a simple movement and simultaneously making sure that he had a hard time doing it. A light cough eased Harry's lungs as he glared at the wall, unsure whether he disliked Riddle or himself more at that moment.

"It's over, Riddle." What was over? He honestly wasn't sure. They didn't really have anything between them to end. No emotional attachments. No bonding ties. Nothing to tie them together after Riddle accepts his rejection.

Riddle's weight abruptly left Harry, and there was a rough curse, a jingling of keys, and the sound of the door slamming within the next few seconds.

Harry turned his face back into the carpet.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Tom didn't return that night or any point during the next day. Harry didn't bother going to class, not in the mood to explain his new bruises. Work was out of the question because if Riddle wanted to be avoided after what Harry had done, the younger male had no right to intrude. The man had said he wouldn't give up if the date went badly, but if everything had gone according to plan and Harry still crushed his hopes? Hopes made it seem so much worse than it was. Riddle just wanted to fuck him.

And date.

Until he found out who Harry really was. Then he would be disgusted and leave. Then Harry would have given up his body, heart, and anything else the other man asked for, and Tom would turn away without a scratch. He would put so much on the line, and if history had anything to say about it, he would lose it all.

Harry forced himself to literally roll out of bed, catching myself on the floor and, after a moment of contemplation, dropping the rest of the way. Honestly, he didn't want to go meet Snape, but what choice did he have? If he didn't go, Tom would know the truth, and then Harry would be trapped. Sighing, Harry picked himself up off the floor and dragged his tired body to the shower. He had barely gotten any sleep, and the sleep he had gotten was restless.

After his mostly pointless shower, Harry applied cover-up to his scar, considering applying it to his bruises as well but deciding that it would be too suspicious. Besides, he deserved them if not for what he said than for hitting Tom in the first place. He slipped on date-worthy clothes, nothing too form-fitting or good looking, like he had done for his date the night before, but he still looked fairly nice. He even ran his hands through his hair once or twice before giving up. Without glancing in the mirror, Harry walked out of the apartment, leaving it empty behind him.

Snape arrived directly on time, as he always did, and Harry climbed easily into the black Honda Accord. It didn't shine like Tom's cars, and it was nowhere near flashy, (probably a good 6 or seven years old) but it was well taken care of. Harry could appreciate that.

"What happened?" Harry blinked at his professor, mind taking a minute to catch onto what Snape was referring to.

"I got into a fight. It's nothing to worry about." Harry flashed his best smile, and though it was clear that Snape wasn't fully convinced, he didn't press onwards.

"I found a really nice Greek restaurant that I thought you would like. They have the best gyros I've ever eaten." He sounded genuinely pleased about this, and Harry hated that he couldn't share in that simple pleasure. The place was, in fact, nice. It wasn't a far cry from being called homey without losing its business feel. The food was good. Not the best Harry had ever tried, but Harry had always been a hard man to impress. They talked about class, and Snape elaborated on his personal life, letting Harry in on the fact that he was Draco's godfather. Harry spoke vaguely about being an orphan and how he was just happy to work towards a better life now. Snape was easy to talk to. He was kind and attentive. That same attentiveness was what started the next conversation.

"There's someone else, isn't there?" Harry's eyes snapped up from his half empty plate to meet Snape's; the man's soft, lightly bitter words sounding much louder than they were.

"I don't know what you—" Snape scoffed lightly, setting his fork down and pinning Harry with a harsh stare.

"He gave you those bruises, didn't he?" Domestic abuse. Snape didn't know just how well Harry could defend himself. The bitterness was nearly gone, replaced by gentleness that made Harry want to laugh. Someone legitimately cared about him, and Harry was too focused on the fucking murderer that he had just rejected to care.

"If it makes a difference, I hit him first." Snape's eyebrows rose at the confession, and, apparently, yes, it did make a difference.

"Why?" Harry could always respond with _because he grabbed me_ but that wouldn't be the complete truth.

"Because he doesn't actually care about me, and I want him to." Harry himself was shocked at the truth in his words. He did want Tom to care about him. It really didn't have to be love. Love took time. But if he could just have romantic feelings for Harry… If he could _care_.

"You love him." It wasn't a question. Green eyes widened.

"I don't…" Snape sighed before Harry could finish his sentence, hand reaching across the table to grip Harry's comfortingly.

"You don't have to force yourself to have feelings for me. You're only just now getting out of a relationship. I can wait." Snape's smile had never seemed more human, and Harry found himself smiling back, their conversation becoming much easier from there out. They chatted until the restaurant shooed them away, Snape waving off Harry's attempts to pay for his share, and when he slid into Snape's vehicle again, he felt much more comfortable. The drive was spent in a comfortable silence; Harry maneuvering his body to hug his professor when the Honda was put in park. Almost surprisingly, Snape returned the light hug, and Harry felt much lighter as he unlocked the door to Tom's house and listened to the car drive away.

"What's so great about him?" Tom stood from his place at the kitchen table and sauntered towards Harry, all the grace of a panther in his steps. A very violent panther. As soon as he got close enough, Harry's senses were assaulted with scotch and black suede and chocolate. Oh, and did Harry mention scotch? Because there was a lot of that.

"You're drunk." Except he didn't look or sound drunk. Tom sneered at the suggestion, as though it was ridiculous that he could be affected by something as petty as alcohol.

"You think you're so fucking smart, don't you? Get the financial stability from me and the emotional support from him. Tell me, are you two fucking? Did you give it up the minute he said he loved you?" Tom was mocking him, and Harry stiffened.

"I never asked for you to—" Tom steamrolled whatever Harry wanted to say.

"You didn't have to. Because you're so bloody untouchable that you entice every man and woman within a fifty foot radius. I've always been the center of people's attention. They want to please me; to get on my good side. They see whatever I want them to see. You looked through me though, and you made me want you until it felt like hot knives were twisted inside of me, and then you left. It's not like you ever said that you wanted to be with me. You constantly told me otherwise, but the way you looked at me—" Tom slammed his hand against the wall beside Harry's head as Harry glanced away. "_Look at me_." The words were no louder or softer than the rest of the monologue; than his usual tone of voice. Harry met Tom's eyes.

**(***Iridescent***)**

When red-brown met emerald again, Tom wanted nothing more than to rewind and figure out what had went wrong the night before. Everything had went beautifully, and Harry had fit in his arms well enough to have been made to for them. Much like the night they had stayed together, Tom hadn't wanted to let go. But this time Harry had pulled away, and it pissed Tom off to no end. He had went out and downed some scotch with Rodolphus and Sirius, never more unhappy with his almost inhuman alcohol tolerance. They had known something was wrong, as Tom never had more than a shot or two throughout the day, but they didn't say anything. They knew him too well. He could have used them as an emotional outlet, yes, but that wasn't how Tom worked. If there was a problem in Tom's life, he got rid of it.

The problem here was that Harry _was_ the fucking problem and Tom didn't fucking _want_ to get rid of him.

"You look at me like the sun rises and sets in my eyes; don't try to deny it. You love me, and you're just too much of a fucking pussy to start something between us because you're too damn _scared_." Tom had been going out on a limb, hoping against everything that he was correct because that would be just about the only way he could convince Harry to stay. He didn't have to love Harry; Harry just had to love him, and then Tom could play along. Harry flinched slightly at the words, eyes darkening, and Tom felt something feral rise up and howl inside of him.

He was right.

"It doesn't matter. You can never love me." No, he couldn't.

"Says whom?" Everyone. All the time.

"You. Me. _Everyone_." So? They could still be happy together. Whatever happy was.

"But I could." Tom gripped Harry's jaw, forcing their eyes to stay connected as the younger man tried to look away. Harry's demeanor suddenly turned offensive, his teeth baring in anger and denial. God, Tom loved it when Harry was angry.

"No, you couldn't! You aren't like the rest of us, damn it! You're a sociopathic, narcissistic asshole who uses people whenever it's best for you and then tosses them away like they're nothing! Just what makes you think you're so fucking capable of playing _human_ for once?" Harry had already put Tom in a box and tossed away the key. He didn't care about Tom's defense or how Tom was being effected. He just wanted to get out and be done with it all. Done with Tom.

Crimson-chocolate orbs flashed, and Tom saw red, all efforts of keeping his composure gone in an instant.

"_Because I fucking love you, God damn it_!" The air stilled along with the two men, neither completely sure what had just went down. Tom didn't—

But he did. It made sense. Why Harry was able to get under his skin so easily; why he was so fascinated with the younger male; why he was so willing to hand Harry whatever he wanted; why Harry was able to make him act as though he had grown a fucking _conscience_, at least when the matter concerned Harry. Tom had never been good at discerning the few emotions he had, especially when they weren't a variation of anger, want, or pleasure. It wasn't that he was going crazy, like it felt. He was just in love.

In love with the self-conscious, soft-hearted, hot tempered, lying, secret keeping, oblivious bitch who could single-handedly get on every single nerve Tom owned. Said bitch broke the silence.

"You don't…" Harry couldn't even finish the sentence. Tom was torn between snarling at the younger man's cowardice and smirking because the game was suddenly in the bag, and he was back in control. He went with a slow, devious smirk.

"You want proof?" Harry stared blankly at Tom, clearly unsure of what to say, and Tom took that as a yes. He reached into the pants pocket of his loose-fitting jeans and pulled out something that green eyes immediately recognized.

"That's—" Tom's smirk grew as he waved the piece of metal in front of Harry's face, rolling it over his fingers once before slipping onto his right ring finger.

"My birthday present. It hasn't left my person since you gave it to me, even sitting on my bedside table when I sleep." The plain-looking, cheap, pathetic ring that Tom wouldn't have given as a gift if someone had paid him to. Except what was cheap to Tom had been a lot for Harry. Harry, who had went out with Tom specifically in mind and searched for something that maybe, just maybe, Tom would like. What to get the man who had everything? Something he would never think of getting himself.

"I couldn't figure out why you gave it to me. At first, I thought it was because you were trying to get into my good graces. You wanted to be noticed, and you thought giving me a birthday present was the way to do it." Harry opened his mouth to protest that fact, and Tom chuckled darkly, leaning in to nip at the sensitive skin under Harry's ear opposite the hand on the wall holding him in place. "I know. _I know_. You just wanted me to have a good day. You're too kind to watch someone struggle and not reach out." He nipped harder, drawing both blood and a light whimper, before he licked at the newly made wound. "When you reached out, you touched me. I just didn't know it. If I was a lesser man, I would have tossed your pretty little gift away and moved on. Luckily for you, I," Tom kissed the wound one last time, "am," he moved up to place kisses on Harry's jaw, loving the way it trembled beneath his touch, "_God_."

And then Tom claimed Harry's lips, too.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry was hesitant to kiss Tom, unable to believe this was really happening. Tom wasn't capable of love. He had said so himself. He had pointed out time and time again what he was and wasn't capable of providing for Harry. Love had never been on the capable list. So, why would he change his tune now? He wasn't one to spout sonnets just to sleep with someone. So…

Tom became more aggressive in his kiss, biting Harry's bottom lip harshly enough to make him bleed and eliciting a sharp gasp. Tom's tongue immediately made its way inside of Harry's mouth, taking the tangy, metallic taste of his own blood with it. The mix of blood, strong whiskey and a hint of chocolate had Harry, much to his embarrassment, immediately moaning. He would like to say that he tried to fight for dominance and that he refused Tom's advances with an iron will, but the truth was that he all but melted under Tom's fierce kiss. And when Tom's fingers slipped up under his shirt, tracing his scars in the same way he had seemingly a lifetime ago, Harry leaned in. In another minute, Tom pulled back a few millimeters for air, and only then did Harry push him away, hands curled tightly into Tom's shirt and arms bent at the elbows, as though unsure as to whether or not he wanted to push him the rest of the way or pull him even closer.

"We can't do this. You don't—I don't…" But Harry didn't know what he was trying to say. His mind was foggy from the recent events, and Tom was doing exactly as Harry had feared he would.

"You can't back out now. You can't say you aren't feeling what I feel; that you haven't felt it day in and day out ever since our first kiss in the elevator, right after you tried to quit." Right after he had tried to quit; after Tom had pulled a background check on him. Tom forced Harry more fully against the wall, his stiff member pressing harshly against Harry's abdomen as fingers traced and retraced Harry's scars. Tom's lips descended again, this time gently over the bruise on Harry's right jaw and lower cheek. Harry turned his head again, this time fully pushing the larger body away and freeing his hands. Sure, it only gave him six or seven inches of room, but it was more than nothing.

"You don't understand, Tom. You don't know who I am." He didn't know. If he knew than he would back away.

"But I will. In time, I'll know more about you than you do. Every inch, every gram, every molecule of your mind, body, and soul will be laid out for me to see, for me to own." Tom moved to close the space between them again, and Harry knew that if he managed to do it, there would be no stopping whatever would happen next. He had to end this now; to repel Tom once and for all or be lost to the blazing fire between them. His hand reached up and, before he could think about it, rubbed roughly against his forehead. It only lasted for a few seconds, but that appeared to be enough as the hand moved from beside his head to latch onto his wrist, moving his hand over to where Tom's hand had been moments before and leaving it there. Tom's long, elegant fingers threaded themselves into Harry's hair, his thumb rubbing back and forth to clear off the rest of the concealer. Without warning, the hand in his hair tugged Harry's face skywards, and the hand paused on his hip tightened into a bruising grip. Harry prepared himself for the final dismissal that he had been running from for so long.

"That…" Tom breathed the word as he got closer to Harry, leaving no room between their bodies and less than an inch between their lips, his eyes riveted on the haunting mark carved into Harry's skin, "is so fucking hot." Harry tensed at the words, not believing what he had just heard, and watched as perfect lips stretched into a predatory grin. "Harry James Potter; _The Boy Who Lived_…" Crimson-chocolate orbs moved from the scar to wide emeralds.

"I—" Harry wasn't sure what he was going to say, but it appeared not to matter as Tom chuckled, his voice alarmingly pleased.

"You'll never get away from me now." Tom kissed him, hungrier than before, more possessive than before. One hand tugged and pulled at windswept black locks while the other pushed much farther under the shirt, pressing and caressing wherever it could. The hand moved far enough up to twist a nipple, and Harry cried out in surprise, his own hands reaching up to clasp around Tom's neck without his approval. Tom re-angled his head to gain better access to Harry's mouth, drinking in his moans. Harry tugged at the hairs at the base of Tom's neck in a plea for air, but the other man, as per usual, ignored him, only delving deeper, as though there was an unexplored part of Harry's mouth that he had missed. Harry responded in turn, his hands going higher, into the thicker locks of Tom's hair, and crudely yanking.

Tom's head was forced back, a sadistic grin on his face, and Harry felt like they were going in slow motion as he watched a thread of saliva between them break. In the next moment, both of Tom's hands were at the hem of Harry's shirt, and then the younger of the two was half naked. Tom's mouth was back after that, nipping and sucking at Harry's jawline before working down his neck, pausing at the jugular to make a mark. That had to be his only purpose, as Harry only felt pain as the other man bit harshly down, only bothering to lick the blood away before moving on. The next time he paused, it was at the small, circular scar on the juncture of Harry's left shoulder. He licked at it, kissed it, and blew cold air on the warmed area of skin, "Cigarette burn."

The kisses continued down, Tom's hand moving from Harry's hair down to his waist as he pinned the younger man against the wall. His lips fluttered over a pert nipple, and Harry could feel it hardening under Tom's touch. Harry bit back a moan, and then Tom opened his mouth, tongue flicking out to taste the bud. Harry's breath hitched, turning quickly into the moan he had been holding back as the mob boss bit down on the nub and tugged lightly before taking it into his mouth. Harry's grip on Tom's hair shifted, tightening again, this time trying to pull him even closer. He could feel the man smirk against his skin before, despite all of Harry's efforts, pulling away. It didn't appear to matter much, though, as Tom only moved to the other nipple, his body moving to kneel on one knee, thumbs rubbing circles on Harry's hips.

Then he left Harry's nipples and moved to the long, diagonal scar running across Harry's abdomen. It was one of Tom's favorite two scars to trace, along with the long, straight one running up his right side. He nipped and sucked along the damaged skin, long canines running lightly over it. Harry hadn't known his scars were so sensitive until he had met Tom. One hand, sure that Harry wasn't going to try and escape again, moved up to trace along the straight scar, nails scraping lightly over the raised skin. Harry felt the teeth dig into his skin, and he lightly wondered if one could leave a mark over skin that was already scarred.

"Where did you get this?" Tom seemed completely unperturbed by the situation, his voice not the slightest bit unsteady, while Harry had to catch his breath to answer.

"D-Dementors. Thirteen." He hoped that Tom would be able to discern that Harry was attempting to relay his age at the time, but there was no way he could talk in complete sentences. Apparently, it didn't matter as Tom hummed against Harry's skin, seeming to understand. His fingers ran up the side-scar one last time before going down and staying down, fingertips slipping into the fabric of Harry's pants. Harry's body tensed without his consent.

"_Freak! This is all you'll ever be good for!" _Harry opened his eyes as Tom's lips left his abdomen, red-brown eyes looking up at Harry through thick lashes. It was at that exact moment that Harry knew it didn't matter what he said now. As far as the older man was concerned, he had filled all of Harry's requirements, and now there was no reason to turn back. Harry was going to lose his virginity within the hour. Surprisingly, it was anticipation, not fear, that welled up within him.

"Sorry."

**(***Iridescent***)**

Tom felt something roar within him at the apology. Little Harry: so innocent, so sweet, so _Tom's_. Without breaking eye contact, Tom placed another feather-light kiss on Harry's abdomen, fingertips moving back out of the fabric and maneuvering so that they were cupping the base of Harry's deliciously firm ass. Then, in one swift motion, he moved to his feet, pulling Harry up with him. Harry took only seconds to catch on, his tones legs wrapping themselves around Tom's waist without question and consequently grinding aforementioned ass against Tom's member. Harry made a small noise of surprise, and Tom smirked, fully aware that Harry only had the lightest of ideas as to just how close they would soon be.

He had never been happier for his height, long legs only taking seven strides to get to his room. Tom kicked his door open, only sparing a moment's thought over the fact that he was going to have to get it fixed, before moving his left hand to the back of Harry's knee and the right up to Harry's hands clasped behind his neck. He easily detached the younger man's grip and tossed the lithe body on the bed, stepping back to admire his work directly after.

Tom had never taken anyone into his room before; his house, yes, but never his bedroom. If he had, Tom was sure that none of them would look nearly as delectable as Harry did now. He took time to admire the green-eyed man while his hands moved to unbutton his shirt, noting the way Harry's eyes stayed glued to his movements; to his chest. Sex incarnateis what people had called Tom, but they clearly hadn't seen Harry.

_Of course they haven't. You're the only one who's ever seen him like this. _A possessive voice in the back of Tom's head gleefully decreed. _Or ever will_.

Harry's lips were bruised and wet, right jaw and lower cheek lightly bruised from the previous night's scuffle, and there was a prominent mark on the middle of Harry's neck, directly above the jugular. The way his lips had been claimed would fade throughout the night, the way Tom had broken the skin blending with the bruises of their fight, but he wouldn't be able to cover the hickey on his neck. People would know that Harry was his. Then again, Harry knew how to work concealer with the best of them. Brown-red eyes moved to look at the now prominent scar on Harry's forehead. He was willing to bet that Harry had no idea how attractive it was that he had managed to fly under the radar when the entire fucking world was looking for him.

Dark kiss marks trailed all the way down Harry's chest, nipples peaking in the cold air, silently begging Tom to lavish them with more attention. Oh, how he would love to do so, but there were more important, more _fun_ things to focus on at the moment. The cigarette burn with the unknown source and the diagonal scar that the Dementors (Tom would deal with them later) had given Harry had both been thoroughly 'checked over,' and Harry's jeans were tented with an obvious erection. His legs looked almost too long, and Tom knew that they wrapped wonderfully well around his waist.

Tom undid the last button on his shirt, allowing the cloth to slide off of his arms and silently hit the ground. Knowing that there wasn't likely to be time later, he went ahead and undid his jeans as well, the thick material dropping to the ground with his boxers soon following. Tom inhaled lightly at the cool air hitting his engorged cock, eyes trained on Harry's reaction. The man's eyes were trained on Tom's member, wide and mesmerized, almost as though he had been waiting for this to happen. His jaw slackened ever so slightly, shoulders and abdomen tensing in anticipation. Tom's next breath was much shakier than the first, filled with swiftly crumbling self-restraint. Harry sat up, abs flexing, eyes unwavering, and tore the last of Tom's self-control down with two easy syllables.

"Come here." It wasn't a request. Harry, whose only experience in the sexual field was with Tom, himself, was trying to take control. Apparently, Tom took too long to respond as Harry's eyes rose from Tom's dick to his eyes. "Well?" He was innocent, not afraid. Not of Tom, anyhow. So, Tom, a very dominant, domineering male, grinned as he obeyed the order.

"Yes, sir." Long legs took two steps to stand in front of Harry, cock standing at full attention for the man in front of him. Harry glanced up again, his unsureness lost to his competitive nature, before taking Tom into his mouth. He threaded his hands into soft black locks as Harry's head bobbed up and down, every couple of moves allowing Tom's dick to leave his mouth completely so that he could simply lick it. Calloused hands moved up and down at the base, and when Harry moved to take Tom again, the mob boss didn't bother to stop the urge to shove Harry's head down, forcing him to choke slightly on Tom's member. He pulled back an inch or two only to lightly thrust back into the warm cavern. Not enough to harm him, only force him deeper.

Harry grunted in discomfort, the vibrations sending pleasure racing up Tom's spine, but he was too proud to lose the unspoken challenge. Tom continued his slow, shallow thrusts for another two or three minutes before simultaneously pulling Harry's head back and stepping away. The saliva connecting Harry's mouth and Tom's dick was enticing, and lust darkened emeralds to a forest green, silently asking Tom what was going on. Harry wanted to take control of what he could do, but he wasn't about to pretend he knew what he was doing when he didn't. Not here.

Tom pulled him up for a deep kiss, enjoying tasting himself on Harry's lips, biting already swollen lips again before letting the younger man go and moving to pull a small bottle out of his bedside table. Harry stared at it, knowing what it meant, and, after Tom raised his brows to question more 'Do you need a minute' than 'Are you sure you're ready for this,' Harry nodded. The younger male stood, not bothering to wait for Tom to come to him, and kicked off his shoes and socks and wriggled out of his trousers. Tom paused to stare at the younger man. His legs were toned, leading up to an equally toned ass and a full erection. No, Tom hadn't gotten to actually view Harry's ass yet, but he had felt it enough to know. Tom spread some of the lubricant on his fingers and tossed the still open bottle on the bed nearby.

He expected Harry to nervously look at him and eventually spread his legs. There was no need to fight over who would be entering whom, as they both know who would win. Instead, Harry immediately moved himself to an open position, at the same time moving himself forward to take Tom into his mouth again. Tom supposed the younger man needed something to take his mind off of what was about to happen, but if nothing else, he had expected Harry to want to receive pleasure to ease the pain, not give it.

Until he remembered Harry's hero-complex. Then it all made sense. Harry was the type of guy to get off simply from getting the man he loved off. And he loved Tom.

Tom hand slid down Harry's member, collecting pre-cum along with the lube, before circling Harry's tense entrance once. Twice. Three times. He pressed two fingers into Harry to the knuckle.

"You haven't said it yet." Tom pulled the fingers out and thrust them back inside again. Harry made a noise around Tom's cock, probably in question, and Tom thrust both his fingers and his cock deeper into Harry. "Tell me you love me." He loved Harry. Harry loved him. But Tom needed to hear it now. Harry grunted again, nothing that sounded remotely like the words Tom wanted to hear, and Tom added a third finger. He scissored his fingers while moving them, and as soon as Harry basically yanked himself off of Tom, a loud moan spilling heedlessly from his lips, Tom knew he was ready. He didn't waste time between removing his fingers and lathering his cock in the rest of the lubricant. Strong hands ran up Harry's torso one more time, ghosting over beautiful scars before flipping the smaller body over and forcing strong hips upwards. Tom re-spread Harry's legs, moving to kneel in the bed behind the man, one hand holding Harry tightly at the waist, palm over the comforting feeling of one of Harry's scars, the other sliding up Harry's back.

There were three scars on Harry's back as well: one of which he was intimately acquainted with (_I must not tell lies._), one jagged, crescent mark the size of Tom's palm was halfway down the left side of Harry's back, and a final, long, sharp line that Tom knew for a fact was from a whip. One day soon, he would know the stories behind all of them.

When Tom's hand reached Harry's shoulder, Tom's body followed, his torso lining up perfectly with Harry's back. Then, Tom thrust the head of his cock into Harry, knowing that the widest part was usually the roughest. Harry didn't cry out, though the tenseness of his body showed how much he had wanted to, and Tom had to stop himself from simply pushing in the rest of the way. If Harry wasn't a virgin, he probably would have. With this being Harry's first time, however, if Tom wanted to have sex with him again anytime soon, and he certainly did, he needed to wait for the other man to adjust. Tom's hand rubbed soothing circles on Harry's side, his lips pressing gentle kisses across broad shoulders and paying special attention to the back of a suntanned neck. Harry relaxed into Tom's touch within minutes.

"Tell me." He eased in another inch. Two. Three. Harry tensed again, though not nearly as badly, and Tom kept going deeper.

"Tom, I can't—" but Tom was only halfway in, and he wasn't about to stop. He pushed in farther, only pausing for a few moments to soothe Harry once more, and eventually finding himself fully sheathed inside of Harry's hot, tight tunnel.

"You feel…" He felt better than anyone else Tom had ever taken or had. Tom took his time pulling out and thrusting back in again, praying to some unknown entity (himself, maybe) that the feeling wouldn't end. On the third thrust, he angled himself the way he felt his fingers had been, and on the torturously slow fourth thrust, Harry was arching up against him. A satisfied smirk lit Tom's face in a way that would have most men taking a step back, and then Tom set a much faster pace.

"T-Tom!" Tom reached around to fondle Harry, beginning to make new hickeys along the younger's back.

"Tell me you love me." Harry was a faithful, loyal creature. If he loved Tom, he would be tied to him. There would be no running away.

"I- I lov—nnngghh!" He trailed off into a loud moan, and Tom thrust harder, torn between displeasure at the lack of admittance and pleasure at the feeling created by their combined bodies. Deciding there was plenty of time, Tom slowed his pace to slow, lazy thrusts.

"Tell me, Harry. Tell me now." He rammed his cock against Harry's prostate, eliciting something between a moan and a whimper.

"I love… God, I love you!" Tom allowed the confession to wash over him, his possessiveness ruling not a moment later that it wasn't enough.

"Again." He put pressure in all the right places, biting down on Harry's sweaty skin, and thrusting at the exact right time, right place.

"I love you!" No, that wasn't enough either.

"_Again_." Tom's hands switched places, right hand threading into Harry's hair and pulling his head back at an awkward angle for a kiss. Crimson-brown eyes flashed as their lips separated, focusing in on the silver band around his finger. "With my name this time." He had to hear it.

"Tom, I—" Harry gasped, tightening around Tom, who upped his pace again, and Tom's left hand (he was never more thankful for being ambidextrous) tightened around the base of Harry's member, stopping his orgasm.

"My full name." Tom's thrusts were quick and hard, hitting Harry's prostate directly every time.

"T-Tom, I lov—Tom Marvolo Riddle, I fucking _love you_, now _let me_ cum!" The words were angry, rushed, demanding, and made Tom feel alive. He let go of Harry's cock, allowing the younger man to find release and milking Tom's own cock on the sudden, extreme tightness of Harry's rocking orgasm, another minute of rapid thrusting along with the noises Harry made pushing Tom over the edge. He rode out his orgasm inside of Harry, biting down on the younger man's shoulder juncture hard enough to draw blood; a lot of it.

Tom drank it in, and only when he was sure that his orgasm had completely finished did Tom fully pull out of the body beneath him, holding himself up with one hand as he quickly flipped Harry over. He maneuvered to hold himself up on his forearms, hands tangling themselves in mussed up black locks as Tom smashed their lips together. Cheap coffee, fresh hazelnut, semen, and blood all mingled together to make a taste that could only be described as Harry Potter. Tongues and teeth clashed in a fight for dominance that Tom knew he would win, and when Tom pulled away again, he could feel arousal stirring in his stomach once more. The older man stood, cock half-hard between his legs.

"Think you're capable of a second round in the shower?" They had to get in the shower to clean up, and Tom was going to take Harry again once they were in there either way, but he figured it was polite to ask. Harry stared at him for a moment before smirking and sanding up, barely flinching when he put weight on his newly used body and not even seeming to notice the white-tinted-pink substance trickling down between his thighs.

"Just try and keep up."


	16. Shades of Pearl

_**Author's Note:**_ _Alright. Lots of things here. There's only one more chapter (MAYBE two) after this. Next up is a super long one-shot (RoyEd) for JJ-Chan100, then it's a multi-chapter ItaNaru for __**Shiro Yukino**__, and lastly, I want to know if __**Candy3314**__ has a request to make. You've been a fabulous, funny, supportive reviewer that always brightens my day, and I would like to return the favor._

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Weeeelllllll…_

Harry awoke to the feeling of something – technically _two_ somethings – pressing themselves into his already aching backside. Harry arched his back lightly in discomfort, well aware that Tom knew he was now wide awake, but when he opened his mouth to protest, Tom's other hand snaked around and gripped the base of his penis, changing words into a stifled moan. Tom's lips (his teeth, mainly) descended on Harry's neck in response, and the fingers moved: in and out, hooking and scissoring. The fingers of Harry's right hand curled into the sheets, and green eyes moved to glare over a trembling shoulder. Brown-red orbs glinted in the dim light of the sun, making sure to hold Harry's gaze as a third finger was shoved roughly in as well. And Harry may have done more than just let out a light noise of surprise if it wasn't for the cool metal at the base of that finger.

The reminder of why he was in this situation that had almost burned itself into his skin the night before. Damn that stupid fucking ring. If it hadn't been for that, Harry could have discounted Tom's claims as nothing and moved on with his life. Instead—

"_I fucking love you, God damn it!" _

Harry's head fell back as the fingers nudged against the spot Tom had been intent on torturing the night before.

"Say it again." The husky words were muttered into Harry's ear, and after the night before, Harry didn't even have to think to know what the man wanted to hear. Which, in this case, worked in his favor because Harry was having a hard time thinking anything with Tom so incredibly close to him. The fingers hooked where they were, pushing the ring slightly inside of him, and Harry's lips moved without his consent.

"You're a—a bast_ard_." Harry's voice broke on the final syllable, and the deep chuckle coming from far too close to him didn't let him so much as think that the slip had gone unnoticed. The fingers removed themselves, but Harry got only a moment's reprieve before Tom's cock aligned itself with his entrance, the thick head pushing in immediately afterwards. Harry's jaw quivered at the reflexive force that it had opened with. "F-fuck you, Riddle." Despite his words, or perhaps because of them, a smirk curled against Harry's neck, and hot breath made the younger man hyper aware of the next words.

"Wrong answer." And the rest of Tom's length entered Harry in a single thrust.

_Wrong answer_. As though the older man would have done anything differently if Harry had said the requested words. If any part of his mind wasn't blinded by the stark pleasure of having his prostate rammed at full force by Tom's almost overly large cock, he may have even said so. Instead, he arched his back and allowed a moan that they had both quickly discovered he was horrible at holding back crawl free. Strong teeth broke the skin on Harry's shoulder, a warm tongue coming out to lick at the wound. Harry shuttered at the feeling, ashamed that he found the sharp pain arousing.

"S-stop!" He didn't want to feel his body melting under Tom's touch. The man stilled for a split second before Harry felt both hands release him to take hold of his inner thighs instead; a quick maneuver leaving Tom sitting beneath him, back against the headboard, and the tip of the other man's penis just barely inside of Harry. Their eyes met, and the older man let go. Harry's voice tore somewhere between yelping and screaming a few choice words. He was almost positive he was being ripped in half.

"You honestly don't want this? Well, get up and walk away. Either that or move with me." Tom's hands moved smoothly over Harry's ass. "Your choice." The words were cocky, making Harry snarl. There was really no choice to make here. Almost—no, actually painfully slowly, Harry lifted himself off of the organ, leaving no doubt in the air over whether or not Harry planned to put himself through this torture. Just before he could pull himself off of the thick head, calloused hands gripped his waist and yanked him roughly back down. If some stroke of luck hadn't caused Harry's prostate to be hit, he may have cried from the pain. Instead, he nearly felt like crying from the pleasure. A low moan reached Harry's ears, mixing with his own, and Harry put his hands on Tom's pecks to steady himself.

"You keep picking the wrong answers, Harry. I thought you were supposed to be smart." Of course the bastard was amused by the situation. The grip on his hips tightened, older man's grin widening as if to say, _'Here, let me show you how it's done.'_ And then they were moving, and the ecstasy was damning and freeing at the same time. Freeing for obvious reasons, damning for his inability to wipe the knowing grin off of Tom's ever-smug lips.

By the time they had both found release, Harry had found the ability to curse up a storm and, after one or two shaky attempts, get out of bed. His legs carried him first to the shower, which he locked and blocked, love or no, and then to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal. When Tom offered him an omelet instead, Harry's bites became more spiteful. Like hell he was going to take food from the man and validate the _completely incorrect_ thought that Tom could do _as_ he pleased _when_ he pleased.

Lucky Charms were better, anyhow.

"Do you have something against putting a shirt on?" Harry's eyes swept over Tom's torso, not daring to glance at the silver basketball shorts.

"And if I do?" Green eyes blinked at the answer. He didn't have a response to that. The pause lengthened.

"You know, I think you're really hot when you have all of your clothes on." When all else fails, appeal to the elder man's sex drive.

"And I think you're really hot when you're spread eagle in front of me, begging for anything I'm willing to give." Harry paused in his eating, meeting Tom's searing gaze over the table. Seeing he had the undivided attention of forest green orbs, a domineering smirk found its way to still kiss-reddened lips, and the man continued. "Tell you what: I'll put on a shirt if you'll lay yourself out on the table and scream for me." And he said it as though he was doing Harry a favor.

"You're a real piece of work." Harry deadpanned. "You know that, right?" The smirk turned from domineering to devilish, though on Tom there was hardly a difference, and Harry quickly moved his attention back to his cereal.

"Want to go swimming?" Green eyes kept to the cereal. He had made enough deals with the devil, none of which were turning out spectacularly well.

"No." Tom's chair scraped against the floor at Harry's response, and Harry kept eating. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Bite. Chew. Tom's hands running through his hair. Choke-swallow. Calloused fingers tracing the scar on his forehead (despite his reapplied concealer) while the other hand continued to massage his scalp.

"Swim with me." Hot breath on his ear. Fingers moving from the scar on his forehead to the long one up his side. Lips on his collar bone.

Harry's elbow against Tom's solar plexus.

Tom bent further over as a gruff gasp left his lips, and Harry went back to eating his cereal. His only warning thereafter was a deep, darkly amused chuckle, and then Harry was being lifted out of his chair, and no amount of struggling was going to get him on the ground again. Sure, he landed a few good hits, but nothing so much as slowed Tom down, and Harry hated that he was being restrained long enough to be able to admire the musculature of Tom's back.

Not that admiring any part of Tom (other than his personality) was very hard.

The next thing Harry knew, they were submerged in water. Tom's grip loosened, and Harry kicked the man in the abs as a means of propelling himself away. His head broke through to the surface for a mere moment before a tight grip on his ankle yanked him back down again. Harry turned so that he could fight his way free only to find Tom's face extremely close to his. Their lips met; the hand on his ankle moved to grip his shoulder, another hand mirroring the movement, and then Harry was shoved deeper under the water as Tom used him to push himself upwards. When Harry's head broke the surface the second time, he gasped for air once more before taking a blind swing at where he knew his lover to be.

Of course, that turned out to be an incredibly stupid idea as his wrist got caught and Harry was maneuvered so that his back was pressed tightly against Tom's well-chiseled chest, the only thing separating them being Harry's sopping wet shirt. Harry, a proud virgin less than twenty four hours beforehand, knew exactly where this was heading and quickly moved so that they were facing each other. Tom let go of his wrist, and Harry threaded his fingers into Tom's thick, drenched locks. Their eyes connected in a heated stare just before Harry used their combined weight to shove Tom under water. A boyish giggle slipped passed Harry's lips as he moved to swim away, but strong arms encircling his waist stopped him from getting any farther than a foot or two. Harry was lifted entirely out of the water before being plunged back under, laughing all the while.

When he re-emerged, Harry's hand wiped the water and stray hair out of his eyes to see Tom with an appreciative, lusty look in his eyes, a triumphant smile on his lips, and Harry's shirt dangling from his fingers. The cloth sank into the water's depths, and their game began anew.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Draco stared blankly at the wall in front of him. He didn't know why he had been so affected by all of this. He shouldn't have cared. It was an inevitable event, what with the way they looked at each other. Every time Harry and Tom were in the same room with each other, sparks flew. As much as he hated to admit it, they had more chemistry between them when arguing than Draco and Tom had when having sex. Tom had never gotten that excited, possessive spark in his eyes when looking at Draco. So, he shouldn't have been so torn up over it, right? Yet, the scene from Friday night kept replaying in his head, nagging at him day and night.

_Draco got out of his limo, telling the driver (Dobby, maybe?) that he would call when he was finished. He didn't know exactly what possessed him to come to his ex-lover's house on that particular night, but something told him that this would be his final chance to rekindle whatever flame they once had. It wasn't incredibly late, maybe eleven or so, but Harry had his date with Severus that day, and Tom had been drinking with Sirius and Rodolphus, meaning there was a good chance something had gone wrong between them the night before, so hopefully Tom would be alone in there. Draco raised his hand to knock on the door when he heard a voice from inside—extremely close to the door. His hand froze._

"_You look at me like the sun rises and sets in my eyes; don't try to deny it. You love me, and just too much of a fucking pussy to start something between us because you're too damn _scared_." That was Tom. He sounded more than irritated, and Draco stilled further as he realized what he had stumbled upon. This was the turning point. _

"_It doesn't matter. You can never love me." Potter's voice didn't waver, but it wasn't clear just who the younger man was trying to convince. _

"_Says whom?" Draco immediately wished that he could see through the door. Was Tom seriously implying that—_

"_You. Me. _Everyone_." Potter was firmer this time. More sure of the truth. _

"_But I could." Draco recognized the sultry nature of Tom's tone. He was trying to charm his way into something he wanted. Apparently, Potter would have none of it as his voice raised to a shout._

"_No, you couldn't! You aren't like the rest of us, damn it! You're a sociopathic, narcissistic asshole who uses people whenever it's best for you and then tosses them away like they're nothing! Just what makes you think you're so fucking capable of playing _human_ for once?" He was angry, and Draco was halfway sure the next thing he would hear was a gunshot. No one spoke to Tom like that and lived. Yet, what he heard was even more surprising than that, even from the beginning. _

_Tom, who had never once felt the need to raise his voice to achieve a point, shouted right back, "_Because I fucking love you, God damn it!_" And Draco had to pull every ounce of self control to stop the burning behind his eyes. The man he had been chasing after for so long—the one he could always handle being sex friends with because the other man just wasn't _capable_ of feeling anything else—was confessing his love to Harry bloody Potter. Silence rained down around them before Potter finally spoke again, voice soft and disbelieving._

"_You don't…" He didn't. Say it, Potter! Say it and make this nightmare end! But he didn't, and Tom spoke again, sounding much akin to the cat who got the crème, the canary, the goldfish, and had the owner apologizing for not having more._

"_You want proof?" There was proof? _

_A light pause occurred before Potter, surprise deep in his voice, said, "That's—" but Tom didn't let him finish._

"_My birthday present." Potter had gotten him something? "It hasn't left my person since you gave it to me, even sitting on my bedside table when I sleep. I couldn't figure out why you gave it to me. At first, I thought it was because you were trying to get into my good graces. You wanted to be noticed, and you thought giving me a birthday present was the way to do it." Harry must have done something in protest at those words, as Tom's voice changed to soft and assuring and all-too pleased. "I know. _I know. _You just wanted me to have a good day. You're too kind to watch someone struggle and not reach out." Potter whimpered lightly, and Draco wished he could pretend he didn't know why. "When you reached out, you touched me. I just didn't know it. If I was a lesser man, I would have tossed your pretty little gift away and moved on. Luckily for you, I," a pause, "am," another pause, "God." _

_And then noises that Draco knew all too well came through, but they only lasted for a minute before Potter spoke, protesting once more._

"_We can't do this. You don't—I don't…" He didn't want to adhere to what was happening. Draco wished he would succeed._

"_You can't back out now. You can't say you aren't feeling what I feel; that you haven't felt it day in and day out ever since our first kiss in the elevator, right after you tried to quit." Tom didn't sound in any sort of hurry, though his voice was getting huskier by the word, and Draco knew as well as Tom that the battle was already won. _

"_You don't understand, Tom. You don't know who I am." Potter sounded desperate, but Tom wasn't giving him any time to recover his senses. _

"_But I will. In time, I'll know more about you than you do. Every inch, every gram, every molecule of your mind, body, and soul will be laid out for me to see, for me to own." Draco felt a shiver race up his spine at the possessive statement; the dark promises within it. There was a silence that lasted for nearly two minutes before Tom's voice, soft as silk and rough as sin, came back into the picture. "That…" he trailed off again, voice barely audible, causing Draco to strain to hear the rest, "is so fucking hot. Harry James Potter; _The Boy Who Lived_..." Draco was too surprised to gasp._

"_I—" Tom chuckled, interrupting Potter with a pleasure in his voice that Draco had never before heard._

"_You'll never get away from me now." And Draco couldn't force himself to stay around and listen to any more. _

_It wasn't until he got outside and pulled out his phone to call Dobby that he realized he was crying. _

And here he had sat since that point. At first, he had convinced himself that the shock was over Potter being The Boy Who Lived, but it was only a short amount of time before he had realized that with all of Potter's secrets, it wasn't that big of a shock, and in all honesty, he didn't really care. The relationship between Tom and Harry was equally unsurprising, if one ignored the fact that Tom was a fucking sociopath. So, why did it hurt so much? What was adding to this, overall expected, heartbreak? Was it because he had, somewhere along the line, considered Potter his friend, and this felt like a betrayal?

He remembered when they had first formed that feeble strand of friendship out in the park, when they were both estranged from Tom and—

"_Like hell I did. I never did a single thing with—" Potter paused for a second, clearly unsure what to say next before continuing on, "with that damnable bastard."_

But…

"_You can't back out now. You can't say you aren't feeling what I feel; that you haven't felt it day in and day out ever since our first kiss in the elevator, right after you tried to quit."_

Potter had lied. They had kissed days prior, and Potter had lied to his face about it. Suddenly, his feelings weren't so hard to figure out. He had taken for granted that Potter was just too much of a goody-two-shoes to lie to Draco; to get involved with someone who was already taken. The fucker had probably laughed about it afterwards. Potter had known how he felt—he had— he had ruined everything. Draco's lips curled into a snarl.

Well, two could play at that game.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry woke up on Monday morning, completely content with the world. He could hardly count how many times or in how many ways he had been brought to completion over the weekend or even how many hours they had spent just being together – watching movies or discussing politics or simply sitting in the other's company. There had been a moment where Harry had been legitimately reluctant to play along with Tom's desires, thinking the man wanted to use some sort of Toy on him, but he had quickly discovered that the murderer's possessiveness knew no bounds, and even the idea of something that _wasn't Tom_ causing him pleasure riled the older man up enough to spend the next few hours making sure that Harry's body wouldn't be satisfied without him, specifically. Tom had left earlier, giving Harry nothing more than a short, "Don't be late to work." But that was fine; welcome, even. Harry had never expected anything between them to be lovey-dovey, and if Tom suddenly started spouting sonnets and asking him if he was comfortable, Harry would probably start forming an escape plan from the doom sure to befall him.

So, he rolled lazily out of bed, up half an hour before his alarm clock could consider going off, and moved for the shower. Hot water and not-a-dick-up-his-arse would do his body some good. He hadn't thought it was possible to feel so good and so sore at the same time, but hey. He wasn't in a position to complain, either. The water ran soothingly over his skin, and Harry scrubbed at his forehead despite the fact that he had given up trying to keep it covered halfway through Saturday as Tom had continuously found ways to expose his scar. A good fifteen minutes passed before Harry found little reason to continue to stand under the hot jets and stepped out. He took his time getting dressed and reapplying his concealer, in no real hurry to get to class. Calculus was a drag, anyhow, and his mood was way too high to be brought down by something as silly as time.

His legs carried him to the kitchen where, unsurprisingly, their dinner from the night before still sat. They had become… otherwise occupied, and dinner had been promptly abandoned. Harry considered cleaning it up but decided that it could wait until he got home. He would admit he still wasn't totally sure about Tom's intentions, but that didn't stifle the overwhelming happiness he felt at the moment. Not enough to matter, anyhow. Harry left the house twenty minutes later, still absurdly early and still thinking about what awaited him for the next—well, who was to say how long they would be together? If the way Tom was talking stayed true, maybe forever.

He stopped by his favorite coffee shop, buying his favorite brew with the money he actually had since his (His what? Boyfriend? Lover? They hadn't actually defined whatever was between them yet.) boss was paying him for his work now. The woman looked at him in surprise, stuttering slightly and, when she thought he wasn't looking, bringing her friend's attention to him as well. He pursed his lips at the woman, slightly curious but not enough to let it dampen his mood, took his drink and left. It wasn't until other people started to not-so-discreetly point at him as well that he began to pay more attention to what was going on. Eventually, he stopped in front of two women who had been quite blatantly staring and questioned what the hell was going on. The blonde glanced unsurely at her friend before putting her full attentions on Harry again.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" She said it as though it was an obvious question, and Harry cocked a questioning brow.

"Is what true?" The redhead gave her friend an 'I-told-you-so' look at Harry's question, and the blonde responded, a little more impatiently.

"The papers; the blogs; the magazines; everything. Are you really the Boy-Who-Lived?" Harry had run in the direction of the nearest newsstand before his coffee could hit the ground, only faintly aware of the blonde telling her friend that she knew so many sources couldn't be wrong. He picked up a magazine with shaky hands, reading the headlines and running his eyes over a picture of his face even before the flimsy material was lifted.

**The Boy-Who-Lived: What's Become of Him Now?**

_We all know the story of the Boy-Who-Lived, but now we finally know his identity, too! Harry James Potter, student at Hogwarts University, is, in fact, the mysterious survivor from the serial murders so many years ago…_

Harry stopped reading. This wasn't happening. It wasn't possible. How had—

Tom. Tom and Sirius were the only ones who knew, and Sirius wouldn't tell a soul to save his life. Tom though… he had no such loyalties. He had gotten what he wanted (namely Harry's virginity) and now all he cared about was the shock factor. To him, Harry was just something to amuse himself with. Tears stung at the back of his eyes as his throat constricted and his fingers creased the paper.

"Hey, are you going to pay for—oh wow. You're _him_, aren't you? Dan, you've got to see this!" Harry ignored the vendor as he tossed the magazine back down and ran for the only place he could think of.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Tom was in an undeniably good mood. Harry had been nothing less than Tom's best fantasies all throughout the weekend, and now that his errands were finally done (he had blown off quite a lot over the weekend), he could go to the office and see the little minx. Harry hadn't lost any of his will or spunk over the weekend. No matter how many times they fucked, made love, and everything in between, Harry had still asserted his defiance at the thought of being owned. He refused to bend completely to Tom's will and made the older man chase nearly every time. He didn't shy away afterwards, embarrassed over what had just transpired, but instead seemed to bathe in the attention.

Their conversations got no less interesting, and Harry's sharp wit and quick maneuvers got no less arousing. Harry held Tom's attention like no other, and he only found his obsession growing. When Harry had thought that Tom was going to fuck him with some insignificant toy, he had nearly growled. Harry's pleasure was his to cause and his to have and he didn't need any fucking _help_. Other conquests didn't matter. If they wanted more even after he found himself sated, they could use whatever they liked, but Harry—Tom almost bit off a curse at the thought of anything else inside of the boy.

Not including Harry's own fingers, of course, because watching the young man masturbate was fairly high on Tom's list of things to do. Maybe that's what they would do when they got home? Tom could rile him up and leave him to take care of himself. He wondered if Harry would be able to cum on his own or if his body was already used to Tom enough to need his assistance. He wondered if he'd be able to hold himself back long enough to allow Harry to get himself off.

He wondered if he could get Harry to suck him off while playing with himself.

The last option sounded the most appealing, and Tom smirked at the thought of whispering his suggestion into Harry's ear while the younger male attempted to complete his work. Not that he would get to do so as the first thing he saw when entering the office was Hermione's panicked face, which rarely boded well for his plans.

"Did you _know_?" She sounded torn between shock and horror, and Tom frowned in irritation at the vague question.

"Know what?" The Daily Prophet was shoved into his line of vision and, before Tom could berate her for her rudeness, he found himself staring at a photo of Harry. Brown-crimson eyes narrowed as he moved through the writings, irritation morphing into anger with every passing word.

Harry was _his_, and any information along with when and whom it should be leaked to belonged to him by association. Now everyone knew, and Harry—Tom glanced at the clock, noting that the boy should have arrived hours ago. Harry was going to blame him. He was the only one to recently find out (assuming that this revealed secret was what had brought Harry and Sirius so close so quickly) and the main candidate to be able to get so many people to print the story so quickly.

"Well, _did you_?" Tom shoved Hermione roughly to the side, pinning both her and Ron with a stern look that promised immense pain if his orders weren't followed.

"Find out who did this." He tossed the paper onto the table between them and moved his gaze to Rodolphus, assuming that Sirius was currently out looking for his Godson. "Keep everything in order here. Call Sirius back, too. When I return, he'll be with me." And then he turned and left again, anger turning swiftly to fury which was easily refined to a malicious, calculating sadism that wouldn't be satisfied without blood. It was time to put his old connections into good use and get his newfound lover back from the trouble he had surely landed himself in by now.

With an opponent like the infamous Half-Blood Prince, he may actually need them.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry's head hurt like hell. That was his first thought as he woke up for the second time that day. Why the hell had he fallen asleep, anyhow?

Oh, right.

His secret was out, and he had needed someone to turn to. Cedric was out of the country with his father on business, he still hadn't spoken to Dudley and honestly wasn't entirely sure where to find the man, and Sirius was bound to be somewhere near Riddle, which exhausted nearly every option Harry felt somewhat safe running towards. And then he remembered Severus. The man had said he wanted to help the Boy-Who-Lived, right? Okay, so maybe Harry hadn't been completely honest with the man, but he hadn't been completely honest with anyone.

_Until now_, His mind inserted bitterly, _and look how well this is turning out._

He was bound and gagged in a bloody-fucking basement with a professor whose definition of help was more than a little off-kilter staring down at him.

"I assume you're curious as to why I've taken you." He even had the gall to sound casual. "Though I don't know if I should tell you. You've been truly detestable in the way you've treated me these past few months." The gaze turned bitter and angry. "Not that I'm incredibly surprised, what with who your father is. Tell me, did you find it funny to hear me speaking of your father while I poured my heart out to you?" Snape pulled Harry up by the all-too secure rope around his chest, free hand removing the cloth from Harry's mouth. "No matter. We have time to correct your less than desirable personality traits. Consider it something akin to detention." He sneered and let Harry, whose legs were also bound, drop to the floor.

"Fucking bastard! You won't get away with this!" When he had run to the man for help, he honestly hadn't expected the revelation of Snape being the Half-Blood Prince. Snape sneered at Harry's meager threat.

"Why not? I have before." Many times, if the papers were to be believed.

"You're a damn psycho, you hear me? You killed my parents, and now you think that—" Snape interrupted him with casual ease.

"Parent." Harry's eyes blinked at the correction, unsure what to say between his outrage and ever-growing unsureness of his ability to escape. Black eyes focused on green. "You don't honestly think I would ever lay a hand on Lily, do you?" His eyes turned to the side. "No, that was my subordinate. Although I can't completely blame him; he tried to spare her, but she absolutely refused to move out of the line of fire. _Insisted_ on protecting you." Snape's hand curled into a fist, his knuckles turning white from the force of it. "It was your fault, really." At that, Harry huffed, rolling his eyes in an over-exaggerated motion as he tried to wriggle his hands free of the thick, unyielding rope. He was getting seriously tired of people blaming his parents' death on him.

"How is it my fault that you and your subordinate are insane?" Harry tried to goad a reaction out of the man, hoping he could buy some time if he just kept the professor busy. "Where the bloody hell are we, anyway?" Snape gave him a disapproving look, going so far as to tut at his language before looking around.

"You don't recognize your first home?" Harry stopped his light struggling at the question, pausing to actually look around. Now that Snape mentioned it, the room did look slightly familiar. "We're going to do it right this time, Harry. This is going to end where it began all those years ago." Green eyes returned to obsidian. He was finally going to kill Harry, just as he had intended to before.

"What are you waiting for?" He was trying to buy time, yes, but Snape wasn't being tricked into going along with it. He wasn't torturing or maiming or gloating over some master plan, just… biding his time. What for though?

"Come now, Harry. You don't seriously think that royalty works alone, do you?" Harry froze at the new voice, all hope of escape leaving him for anger, confusion, and despair. Emerald orbs moved to gaze upon the tall figure gracefully entering the room, and Harry wanted to scream in frustration.

The Half-Blood Prince and Lord Voldemort.

Working together.

Fan-fucking-tastic.


	17. Shades of Magenta

_**Author's Note:**_ _Go get some string because we're about to tie up a lot of loose ends._

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ I've got some grapes. Does that count?_

Severus looked at the paper in his hands, not entirely sure what to do. Harry—sweet, kind, gentle Harry—was the child of his most hated tormentor. The child responsible for Lily's death (as, without him, she would have given in and come along). The young man he felt was a kindred spirit had been messing with him. It had hurt at first, far more than he had ever expected, but he supposed it made sense that James Potter's spawn would be just as malicious as his father. The only difference was Severus hadn't been as aware of Harry's nature as he had been of James'. He had given Harry bits of truth that he had trusted with no one else—about his past and the bullies—about his need to find the Boy Who Lived and finally put his past to rest. Well, he supposed for all the lying the boy did, he had at least been truthful about one thing: Harry was certainly going to be there for their encounter.

This was what he got for trusting. He had been manipulated just as skillfully as a puppet in the hands of its master, and Severus held the thought at the back of his mind that he, of all people, should have known the signs. After all, he had done his fair share of manipulating in his younger days. It had been through manipulation that he had gained his short-lived pedestal at the top of the Dementors; through manipulation that he had tricked Rufus Scrimgeour into treating him as a consultant for crimes that he, himself was committing, becoming a double-agent of sorts. It was through manipulation that he had gotten rid of James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew and incarcerated Sirius Black. If it hadn't been for a freak stroke of luck, Black would probably still be rotting for the crimes he hadn't committed, but he had probably died on the streets shortly after escaping, so it wasn't an incredible loss.

Now though, he could get even. He could have his revenge. For everything. All he had to do was find—

The door burst open.

"Severus, I'm really sorry I didn't tell you in the first place but…" Harry trailed off, unshed tears in his distressed eyes – in Lily's eyes – and Severus hated that he almost wanted to go comfort the young man. Why did the boy have to look and act so much like his mother when he was so clearly becoming a near carbon-copy of his father? The pain tore at Severus' chest. He had wanted so badly for Harry just to be the gift that he had seemed to be—a second chance with Lily. Now, though…

Now he could see the truth behind the web of lies, and it made his throat constrict painfully. He had been played.

Again.

"Did you have fun watching me chase futilely after you?" Was he laughing with his violent lover (probably just like one of the brutes his father had hung out with) every time he and Severus separated? Green eyes widened in faux concern and shame. Why couldn't he have had James' eyes instead? Why did he have to manipulate Lily's most beautiful feature into doing such foul deeds? Why did Severus want to pretend the care was true?

He had really liked Harry.

He really liked Harry.

The realization was startling: that his heart refused to give up this pointless chase even after knowing that it was basically a prank being played from beyond the grave. Then again, even with Lily cutting ties with him completely in lieu of going for James, his feelings for her had never diminished, either. The world was a cruel place. Obsidian orbs locked fully with panicking green.

A cruel world with cruel people.

"No! No, Sev, I just didn't think—" _Sev._ That was what Lily had called him, too.

"That's right. You didn't think." If Harry had been thinking, maybe he would have told Severus, like Lily would have, and shown that he followed more in the footsteps of his mother than his father. Instead, they were stuck in a situation where no one would come out truly victorious: Harry would die, and Severus would be alone once more.

A cruel place, indeed.

"Severus, I was scared of how you would react; of how everyone would react. I didn't mean to hurt you—" Severus actually snorted in derision at that line. There was a time to keep playing games and a time to give them up. But, he supposed if Harry really still wanted to play…

Severus forced his gaze to soften slightly.

"You should never have feared my reaction. You should have trusted me. Like I trusted you." The words clearly hit home as Harry visibly flinched, unable to continue meeting Severus' eyes. Severus enjoyed the pained expression on his tormentor's (so much like James when those blasted eyes weren't staring into his soul) face before continuing on. "It's understandable though. I was only your professor, and if you're here then I can only assume your other friends reacted exactly how you feared." His eyes—_her eyes_—shot back up to meet Severus' steady stare. "Come on. You can stay with me until things calm down. No one will know where you are." Severus would make sure of that much.

The thankfulness that filled green irises and the soft, incredulously happy smile that smoothed its way onto pretty lips nearly undid Severus. Whenever Harry did that, all Severus could see was Lily. He quickly steeled his emotions for the inevitable, not allowing himself to give in and fall for this charmer's trickery. One wouldn't think that cruelty was something that could be passed down within the first five years of life.

"I… _Thank you_, Severus." He sounded so grateful. Severus wondered how long it would take him to drop the act once he figured out Severus' plans. It had only taken James seconds to start shouting obscenities that matched his true personality. Still, Severus stood from his place at his desk and walked Harry to his car, an almost comfortable silence permeating between them. When they reached the small, back Honda (probably something Harry had scoffed at, what with how rich his father had been), Severus opened the passenger-side door for Harry. Just before getting in, Harry turned to Severus and wrapped his arms around the older man in a tight hug. A silent, more gracious _thank you_. And then, just as quickly, he let go and got in the car.

Severus almost—_almost_ hesitated before shutting the door and sealing both of their fates.

**(***Iridescent***)**

_Tom couldn't see why Severus was so obsessed with the Potters. In his thirteen years of life, he had climbed higher in the underworld than many adults, but those were the results that being a superior being tended to bestow. In the past few months, he had joined a group called the Dementors and had, most recently, been observing the meticulous manner that Severus worked in. The man had picked random families at first, probably needing to perfect his style of killing, before moving on to more personal ones. Sending one of his childhood bullies to Askaban was one step, another being a sniveling rat who didn't mind betraying helping to pull this stunt off, and a third being the murder of a wolf of some sort. Tom paid little attention to the personal details. It was all just another way to pull himself up in the hierarchy of life. _

_Brown-red orbs ran over the fairly pretty woman in her mid-twenties, unable to see why the older man was so enthralled with her. The only truly stunning thing about her was her eyes, and they were bloodshot from the crying and waiting she had been doing while her husband was tortured. Though the screams had died out hours beforehand, so Tom wasn't entirely sure what was keeping the older man in the other room. Honestly, he was getting bored. He lazily moved his gun from the fearful, heartbroken, somehow defiant woman to her son, the boy's identical green orbs looking unsurely between Tom and the door his father had been dragged through from his place behind his mother. Lily immediately shifted with his weapon. _

"_Stay behind me, sweetheart." Her voice was surprisingly steady, and Tom had the mild urge to put his pistol between her lips before pulling the trigger. God, he was bored. His eyes shifted, without the gun this time, to see her spawn peeking out from behind her legs again. He was clearly unsure what was going on, and since the screaming had stopped, he wasn't especially inclined to figure it out. Tom's lip curled downwards ever so slightly in a disapproving frown. Stupid boy._

"_Momma, where's Daddy?" Before she could give some unsure, sugar-coated response, Tom spoke._

"_He's dead." Tom didn't know for sure if the man was dead yet, but he certainly would be by the next time his son saw him, so it didn't particularly matter. Wide green eyes met bored brown-red, and there was a question Tom wasn't prepared for._

"_Can you bring him back?" The question was so innocent that Tom wanted to smear it off the face of the earth. His facial expression didn't change._

"_No, but I can take you to him." Severus wanted James and his spawn dead and Lily alive. Green eyes widened further, if possible, and the boy moved to go towards Tom only to have his mother roughly grab hold of him and pull him back to relative safety. _

"_But Momma, he—"_

"_No, Harry. Daddy's working. You can't see him now." The boy stilled in his efforts at her words, seeming to reevaluate the situation before nodding in understanding._

"_Oh." Trivial lies. She was lucky that her son would be dead before the night's end so that she wouldn't have to live with the consequences of explaining the truth. Tom scoffed. Lily glared up at him from her place on the floor, crouched over her son. Footsteps drew her attention elsewhere as Severus finally (and Tom did mean finally; he had never had much patience for these sorts of things) emerged. _

"_Severus—" But apparently she couldn't find it in herself to utter anything else, eyes frozen on the blood that splattered itself across Severus' usually cleanly form. _

"_Lily." He nodded, as though this was a casual, every-day greeting. Tom moved his gaze to his (supposedly) superior. The man had no idea just how much better Tom was than he, and Tom wasn't yet in a position to show him that, so, placating himself with the knowledge that soon there would be no question as to who was the true master here, waited for an order. Severus (infuriatingly) didn't acknowledge him, but Tom allowed no signs of his irritation to surface. "Lily, step away from the boy." Severus wanted so badly to spare her; as though she was something special. He was probably banking on Stockholm syndrome at this point. Tom vowed never to allow himself such a weakness._

"_I won't." She put up a strong front, wavering only a moment later. "Sev, please. Take me. Let Harry go__. He hasn't done anything wrong; he's—" Severus interrupted her. _

"_Now, Lily. _His_ spawn will not taint this earth any longer than it already has." The venom in Severus' voice was a disgusting display of emotion in front of the enemy. The red-headed woman held her son closer than ever, tears streaming down her cheeks._

"_Not Harry. Please, no. Take me; kill me instead —__" She stumbled over her words, wanting nothing more than to protect her son, and like some sort of magic answered her prayers, sirens could be heard in the distance. Time was up. Severus growled as he realized he had to rush if he wanted to salvage the situation._

"_This is my last warning —__" Lily cut Severus off this time, growing both bolder in her words and more feeble in her desperation to save her only child. Tom briefly wondered if his mother's love for him had been anywhere near that strong before waving the notion away. _

"_Not Harry! Please ... have mercy ... Not Harry! Please — I'll do anything…" Tom pulled the trigger, and her body slumped to the floor. As the child began to scream, Severus spun towards him, fury alight in his eyes and unflatteringly twisting his features. Tom cocked an unamused brow._

"_You said it was her last warning." If Severus was going to further himself, he needed people to know that he was exactly as much bite as he was bark. Making empty threats wouldn't do that. The man should be thanking Tom for his generosity in fixing a blunder not his own. The sirens' wails were getting much too close, and Tom ignored his partner in crime in favor of raising his pistol to finish the job. As he moved to pull the trigger, Severus pushed him, and before he knew it the bullet had veered off course, instead hitting something behind the crying child and his mother's corpse and ricocheting back to Tom. _

"_You insolent—" but the insult wasn't worth the pain of speaking. Severus wanted to let the boy live? To do the job himself? Fine. Tom was done with this job, and if the imbecile wanted to get caught, he could do it alone. Looking one last time at the carnage that had been more a waste of time than anything else and taking less than a moment to note the scared, near-broken look in tear-filled, forest green orbs, Tom fled the scene. Later, he would read about how Severus had marked the young man for a later target, but it would only be a passing recognition. Other than the scar from his own bullet to remember the night by, it failed to stand out amongst his blood spattered climb to the top._

He remembered it now though. Looking into dark green, defiant eyes, Tom was vividly reminded of Harry's mother. When he had first found out that Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, he had felt his possessiveness sink its teeth in deeper than he had ever thought possible, urged on with the knowledge that he had been the one to truly set Harry's life down the course that made him who he was today. Severus would never have gone through with harming his high-school sweetheart. If not for Tom, Lily would probably still be alive, and Harry would be nothing like the man he was today. No matter how he looked at it, Harry James Potter was a byproduct of his actions; created by him and for him.

There had never been any intention of telling Harry this, as the younger man would no doubt be appalled at getting into a relationship with the man who murdered his mother, but in hindsight he supposed this confrontation was unavoidable. And the look in Harry's eyes – rebellious, fierce, and unwilling to show just how hurt he clearly was by Tom's betrayal – as he glared up from his place on the ground was nothing short of delectable.

Betrayal being a very loose term here, as Tom hadn't known Harry at the time. It had just been another order to follow; just a random life to take. Not that Tom regretted what he had done. He would do it again in an instant, as long as it would end him up where he was now.

"Riddle." Harry's voice didn't crack, but it wavered, pain buried deep beneath the anger and shame. Severus glanced between them, and the humor that the two man who killed his parents were the ones vying for his attention didn't escape Tom's notice.

"You two know each other?" 'Outside of your initial meeting' went unsaid, and Tom finally found himself in the position of ignoring Severus' inquiry instead of the other way around. Harry held no such inhibitions.

"Apparently not." Tom's eyes never strayed from Harry, and he couldn't stop the dark smirk from taking his lips. Harry was still under the impression that he could estrange himself from Tom, one way or another. He didn't realize that not even death would stand in the way of Tom getting what he wanted.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry increased his struggles, rubbing his ankles painfully against one another in the hopes that the ropes would loosen. If he could only get his feet free…

Crimson-chocolate orbs stared at him, unreadable except for the possessive glint. Snape clearly didn't plan on letting Harry leave here alive, so he wasn't exactly sure what part of him Riddle still wanted to possess, but, when it came down to it, he didn't really think he wanted to know, either. The gleeful, malicious, I-got-exactly-what-I-want smirk was enough to send chills up Harry's spine on a good day, but here? Harry moved his legs more harshly, hoping that if he broke skin, the blood would make his bindings more slippery (and hopefully he would escape before the blood soaked into the ropes and made them swell even tighter). He had to distract them. If he was going down, he at least wanted to put up a fight. Keep them talking. Just keep them talking.

"You know, you'd think one of the first things to come up when you found out is that fact that you helped kill my parents." The smirk slipped from Riddle's lips as his expression turned almost contemplative. After a moment, he simply shrugged, apparently unconcerned with the question any longer.

"It slipped my mind." Harry paused his struggling for only a millisecond, hating that he could tell his _ex_-lover (though the other man would probably argue that point) was telling the truth. He had killed so many people and done so many horrible things that the murder of Harry's parents probably _hadn't_ stuck out as anything special. And with things going how he wanted them to, Harry doubted Riddle had been in any rush to confess once he had remembered. _Fucking sociopath_.

"How, exactly, do you two know each other?" Snape's eyes were narrowed; he didn't like being ignored here any more than he did in the classroom. Riddle's eyes never moved from Harry, and for half a moment, he wished they had defined their relationship before this mess so that he could at least lie properly. Green eyes widened, and Harry had to stop a desperate grin from splitting his face.

He could always tell the truth.

"We fucked." Riddle's eyes narrowed at the phrasing, probably trying to unravel his intentions, and Harry bared his teeth in a sardonic grin, hoping that just this once the mafia leader wouldn't step in and screw things up. "Right after I left our date with you, actually." He could feel the rope on his heel on his left foot and thanked whatever God was out there that neither man thought his escape possible at this point.

Then again, Riddle always had two guns on him as well.

"You're his lover?" The words were quiet, and Harry moved his eyes between the arrogant, challenging form of Riddle and the tense, disbelieving form of Snape before he spoke again. Getting them mad at each other wouldn't get Harry anywhere.

"Lover is an intense word. We were just friends with benefits. Not even friends, really. And the benefits weren't all that great, either, but hey. When your only other suitor is a chemistry professor, you do what you have to." Obsidian orbs darkened—if possible—while snapping to glare at Harry, and Riddle's eyes flashed before becoming unreadable again. Harry made a show of scooting backwards, until he was pressed against the wall, and Snape, just as he hoped, moved along with Harry.

The knife wasn't part of the plan, however, and Harry was still trying to recalculate when Riddle stepped in, grabbing Snape's wrist in a vice grip that Harry could _see_ was painful.

"You may get the satisfaction of choosing when he dies, but I'm the only one who will mark him." Riddle's voice was firm, and Harry could see the balance shifting in Snape's mind over whether or not he could take on the younger, stronger, more maliciously sociopathic man. Whether or not he wanted to. Seconds passed before Snape's grip loosened, and Riddle took the knife from him, twirling it in his fingers while turning his full attention back to Harry.

The youngest male cursed inwardly. Snape he could rile up. Snape he could lead into a trap. Snape he could take on and very possibly win against, even with his hands tied as they were. Riddle though? Pulling anything off now was going to depend ten percent on skill, twenty percent on quick wit, and seventy percent on pure luck. Riddle moved closer, looking for all the world like a predator whose prey already had venom running through its veins. As soon as Riddle was close enough, Harry yanked one leg in and straightened the other as quickly and harshly as he could, losing his right shoe in the process but freeing his feet and, with the wall as his anchor, quickly pushing himself up. Without taking time to think about the danger or the pain or anything else, Harry kicked the knife out of Riddle still loose grasp, his foot screaming at him as soon as the fairly deep gash connected harshly with the floor. He used the momentum from his landing to roundhouse kick Riddle in the chest, grinning lightly in satisfaction when he saw the man take two steps back from the force of the blow.

He didn't let either the wound or his satisfaction slow him though, knowing his situation would only get worse if he so much as hesitated, and made a run for the exit. Or what he assumed was the exit. Riddle didn't seem to feel like his plan was all that noteworthy though, as he simply grabbed Harry by the ropes that still tied his upper half with damnably long, damnably strong arms and literally tossed Harry to the left of where he had just escaped from. Harry gritted his teeth at both the pain of hitting the floor with that much force and no ability to brace himself and the sharp sting of his arm having hit something sharp on impact. If green eyes hadn't been clenched shut, they would have widened in surprise.

_The knife_.

Was Riddle, the man who planned every detail twelve moves ahead on both sides, really getting so careless that—

Was Riddle helping him? They (along with most everyone else) would agree that Tom Riddle was no one's knight in shining armor, but was he purposefully giving Harry the tools he needed to escape himself? It was the only logical conclusion with Riddle's obsessive nature, but why? What was the point of exposing Harry, handing him to the man that wanted him dead, and then helping him escape? Unless he just wanted to kill Harry on his own time.

Deciding that he would deal with whatever scheme that Riddle cooked up only when he had to (not that he had much choice), Harry fumbled around behind him until he could feel the handle of the knife and began to frantically cut through the rope. Well, as frantically as he could without letting them know what was going on. Snape stepped between Harry and Riddle, snarl sitting angrily on his lips and brow furrowed into a scowl.

"I was kind enough to allow you to see the end of what you helped start all those years ago, but I won't allow you to ruin all of my hard work." Snape gave Riddle, who was half a head taller, a disgusted once-over before turning away. "You're still the same sloppy, impulsive child as before." Harry was only halfway through the rope, if that, but he stopped caring about whether he was noticed the second an almost suffocatingly furious looked settled in crimson-chocolate eyes. Suddenly, Harry could see why people didn't insult the man. He could see just how lenient Riddle had always been with him.

He could see the tie, before loosely hanging around Riddle's neck, constricting Snape's airways as the younger man pulled upwards until Snape's ear was level with his mouth.

"I was never sloppy." And beneath the rage, Harry could hear the pleasure that Riddle got from causing the usually stoic man to feel near tangible fear; from harming another human being and wielding the powers of life and death in his hands. Snape clawed at the cloth around his throat, landing blows on Riddle wherever he could, but it was no use. Then, without warning, Riddle just let go, easily swinging the tie around so that it was hanging off of either side of his neck once more. "Your place has always been at my feet, Severus. Don't forget that."

The words were emphasized by the way the older man was panting on his knees, one hand steadying himself on the ground while the other lightly massaged tender throat muscles. It almost looked as if Snape was kneeling. Bowing. Prostrating himself as a means of asking for forgiveness. Snape appeared to lose his willingness to fight a useless battle as he all but ignored the statement and, once he had his breath, stood and turned towards Harry. The indignant look in his eyes didn't bode well for Harry.

The green eyed boy scrambled to his feet, trying his damnedest not to let the knife slip from his sweaty palms. He couldn't let this situation get the best of him. Getting into stupid situations was a part of Harry's daily life. Getting out of them was just the same. Just because Tom Fucking Riddle decided to walk into the picture didn't mean that Harry could lose his cool. With a determined grimace, Harry squared his shoulders and forced all signs of apprehension out of his body. He wouldn't show weakness. Not to them.

"Looks like there's a reason he's a Lord and you're a Prince. I thought you were prouder than that, _Snivellus_." Harry had ammunition. He just had to keep his cool long enough to use it. Whatever crimson orbs currently thought of his likelihood of escaping be damned.

Snape was the one who orchestrated his parents' murder. Who had Remus killed. Who sent Sirius to Askaban. Harry just had to scrape up enough rage to focus it. The knife nicked his skin as he got through the rope, and Harry made sure not to move, lest in come unraveled at an unseemly time. Snape sneered.

"A Lord?" Oh, right. He didn't know the reference. "Is that one of your sick fantasies? To be dominated?" Snape pulled a gun from his waist, making Harry wonder if the man was so much of a sadist that he had started with the fucking knife for fun or if it was purely out of anger. "Because I can do that." And then Harry wasn't incredibly sure of what happened. He saw Snape moving almost in slow motion and quickly dove down into a roll on the ground, feeling the bullet rip into his shoulder in the process (maybe he was lucky and it had gone through, but he doubted it) before forcing himself to his feet and freeing himself from the ropes.

The knife slashed with a precision Harry had learned when he was far, far younger, cutting Snape's thumb almost clean off and forcing him to drop his weapon. Then his knife was maneuvered so the blade was turned to the side, and Harry punched the older man in the face as hard as he could. Snape took bumbling steps backwards, stopping only when he hit the wall, and Harry was honestly surprised the man was still standing. Harry moved forward before the chemistry professor had a chance to move. The older man may have been more adept at scheming, but he had been out of the game for far too long. In a physical fight, he didn't stand a chance. Blood trickled down from the cut above Snape's eyebrow, blinding onyx orbs slightly, and Harry pressed the tip of the blade against Snape's abdomen, knowing that it was now or never.

If he let Snape get away, he wouldn't be able to focus all of his energies on Riddle. If he killed Snape, it would be his first real murder; not a kill to help someone else but to protect his own arse, like he had originally wanted to with Vernon. Panicked black irises locked with steady green, and Harry felt his resolve waver. Could he really kill for no one but himself?

The decision was taken out of his hands as a strong body pressed itself against his backside and large, strong hands covered Harry's own. Onyx orbs glanced up and widened in relief before Harry felt the hands propel his own forward, pushing the blade deep into soft flesh.

A husky, throaty groan sounded near Harry's ear.

_What the fuck?_


	18. Black

_**Author's Note:**_ _This is fabulous. I don't care who hates it. It's fabulous._

_**Warnings:**__ Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Eh. _

The Dursleys. Tom had tracked Dudley to his parents' house with minimal effort. A quaint little house on Privet Drive that was almost irritatingly normal had Tom's full attention for all of a few minutes before he turned to get back in his car and leave. Harry may have wanted to seek out Dudley, but the boy would no doubt steer clear of his aunt and uncle. It was the same as his reasoning for not running to Sirius.

"You! Where is he?" Tom turned his head to look at the source of the words, offhandedly noting the desperation and panic sinking deeply into blue eyes.

"And why should I tell you?" Tom wasn't exactly in the mood to play games (unless those games got blood on his hands), but it was better to bluff than reveal an empty hand.

"Because I'm his family!" At that, Tom's carefully blank expression morphed swiftly into a harsh sneer.

"Family? You? No, _Sirius_ is his family. _Diggory_ is his family. _Remus_ was his family. You're just a little boy who thinks that standing up to that oaf you call a father makes up for years of torment and abuse." Tom watched Dudley cringe with a sick sense of pleasure, wanting nothing more than to break the younger man down until he knew only self-loathing and pain, simultaneously knowing that he just _didn't have the time_. Which was probably for the best. Tom was angry, and when he got angry his blood-lust knew no bounds. When he got Harry back, he would have a hard enough time convincing the man that he hadn't exposed the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing. He didn't need to be explaining why Harry's cousin was a mess of negative emotions along with that.

"I've called the police!" Dudley's mother was looking at Tom through the barely opened door, phone held in front of her as though it could offer some sort of protection. As though anything could really protect her from him. Tom turned fully around, a grin both seductive and malicious enough to frighten the devil curling at his lips.

"Did you now?" They were starting this. They were throwing dry wood into a raging inferno.

"Y-yes! I only called you an intruder, but if you don't step away from my D-D-Dudders right now, I'll tell them what you've done! You'll get taken away!" Taken away? With the amount of anger in Tom's blood, someone actually challenging him would only lead to a messier kill; much like his younger days. Tom took smooth, confident steps towards the house and therefore both her and Dudley. The sirens sounding in the background did nothing to ease the fear gathering in Petunia's eyes. He was mere feet away from Dudley when the car pulled up, lights flashing.

"Mom…" There was a warning in Dudley's tone, but Tom was unsure whether she was being warned to tell the police to leave or to run for the woods.

"That's him! The one in the suit; he's t-the intruder!" She waved the phone in Tom's direction, and Tom, with a feral grin, tilted his head back and to the left to look at the two officers who had gotten out of the car, both with weapons at the ready. Tom ran his eyes over them once before chuckling and turning back towards the too-normal house.

"Ma'am, are you sure about this?" The voice was a rough baritone, and Tom heard footsteps progressing towards him.

"Y-yes. Why are you putting your guns away? He's dangerous!" Dangerous?

Such a tame word.

"Ma'am, I'm Officer Dolohov and this is Officer Macnair. We're here to talk to you about an intruder?" Dudley looked between Dolohov and Tom, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"He—He's right there! Him! That horrible man in the suit! He—He's not just an intruder! He shot my husband! My poor Vernon, he…" She trailed off, clearly not sure what to do as the officers came to a stop just behind Tom on either side.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but…" Macnair put a hand on Tom's shoulder before continuing on, "I just don't think Mr. Riddle here would do something like that." He had a casual grin that bade well only for people on his side, and Tom turned his head to look at the policeman.

"You know, maybe she called you out of guilt. I've heard rumors of another child growing up in this household, but none of the neighbors have seen him in years. In fact, there aren't any school or medical records for him, despite supposedly living here for over a decade. Word on the grapevine is that there may have even been _abuse_." Tom put an almost teasing inflection in his voice at the word 'abuse.' Macnair's eyebrows raised nearly into his hairline.

"Really? Now that's something to investigate. Hey, Dolohov, we have anything to do today?" Dolohov stepped forward to be next to Tom, Macnair's hand falling from the taller male's shoulder at the same time.

"Not that I can recall, no." And Tom drank in the realization in Petunia Dursley's eyes for a good few seconds before turning away, no longer caring what happened to them. He had wasted enough time. Tom spun on his heels to stride back to his forest green Tesla Model S Sedan. He had bought it with Harry in mind, both because it matched the young man's eyes and because he had wanted Tom's previous vehicle, but what had made him grin while handing over the pocket change it had cost now had Tom baring his teeth. Harry was _his_.

His to protect.

His to harm.

His to own.

His to love.

His to kill.

_His_.

He started the car, its engine's roar drowning out whatever Dudley was yelling to him. It didn't matter. He didn't care.

If someone had taken any of those rights away from him? If Harry had run to Snape first, and the professor had killed him…

Tom would have the so called _Half-blood Prince_ begging for death before he even got started.

**(***Iridescent***)**

When Tom parked in front of Diggory Incorporated, his rage had only managed to morph and focus. The longer this chase went on, the more harm Tom was liable to cause.

He walked into the large, ritzy building as though he owned the place, and people gave him stares to match. It was the correct reaction, as, if the whim struck him, he really could own it. Did that matter to him? Not in the slightest.

"May I help you?" Naturally blonde lashes fluttered in Tom's direction. He barely spared her a glance before walking past her and getting into the elevator. "Sir! Sir, you can't—" the doors closed, preventing him from hearing anymore of her protests. _Can't_. Tom hated that word. He had eradicated it from the world around him as quickly as he could. The elevators made a quiet 'ding' at every floor, and Tom's agitation upped a step with every repetition of the light noise. When he reached the fiftieth floor, Diggory was already waiting for him.

"Where is he?" The question let Tom know exactly what he didn't want to. "I flew straight here as soon as I heard the news. I thought Harry would come to me, but obviously he didn't. I called Dudley, and he isn't there, either, and that means he has to be with you." Has to be. Should be. Wasn't.

Tom frowned. That meant Harry had gone to Snape, who would be quite a bit harder to track down than these two idiots had been. Unless…

Nearly crimson orbs studied the heir for a moment.

"Where's your master computer?" He could hack from a laptop or even his phone, but it would be fastest and easiest with their master system. Diggory correctly interpreted that as Tom having no idea where Harry was and, after only a moment, gave a stiff nod. The man beside of him immediately began advising against it.

"Sir, we have no idea who this ruffian-" it had been a long time since Tom had been called a ruffian; a long time since any of his three-thousand dollar suits had a reason to become so disheveled- "is! If we just allow him access to our entire database willy-nilly than there's no telling what he could—" Diggory interrupted the man with a firm glare.

"Did I ask for your opinion?" It was cold; completely outside of Diggory's usual personality.

"Well?" Tom's impatience grew by the second.

"It's this way." No warnings not to try anything funny. No suspicious looks. Diggory was operating as though Tom had a gun to his head. He was so worried for Harry's safety that he was willing to give up literally anything to save him. It was pathetic. When faced with an impossible decision, the only proper response was to turn the tables on whoever dared to threaten. Laying down and taking it? That would only invite more people to come along and take what they wanted. Tom would use this irritation as an opportunity. No one would dare to take what was his again. If they were smart, they wouldn't even look in his direction.

Tom strode over to the computer started typing. Diggory made a move to give him the password but stopped short when he found that their security had already been breached. Child's play.

Numbers and letters flew across the screen almost faster than they could appear. Police records. House payments. School records.

None of it mattered to Snape. He wouldn't take Harry to his own home. It would be too obvious. Keeping him at the school was more likely, but Snape most likely planned on returning to his usual life after this incident was over, so it also wasn't ideal. After all of the trouble the teacher had went through to hide his past, he wasn't likely to abandon what he had envisioned as his future any time soon. So, nothing of Snape's. But Harry didn't own anything, either. He had been moving from one apartment to another ever since leaving Lupin's. And Snape, even if he knew about the Dursleys, wouldn't dare bring harm to members of Lily's family. He wouldn't use an undisclosed location, either, as he wouldn't be able to control every variable. That only left one place.

A devilish smirk tugged at the edge of Tom's lips, so filled with malice that he could _feel_ Diggory stiffen beside of him. Revenge was one thing that Tom held true talent for. It honed his instincts like nothing else.

"Did you… find something?" The sequence on the screen clearly made no sense to Diggory. Tom straightened to his full height, expression never faltering. It was time to go. "Wait a second, you'll bring him back safely, right?" Tom didn't spare the boy a glance. What he did with Harry was his business. "Hey! I asked you a question!" Diggory was commanding in his own right, but that tone only served to grate on Tom's nerves. Without pausing, Tom gripped Diggory by his throat and slammed him against the wall. The boy's feet kicked, trying desperately to find the ground. It was to no avail.

"Listen because I'll only say this once: I don't tolerate disrespect. The only reason there's still breath in your pathetic lungs is because I don't feel like listening to Harry bitching over your death. Don't make the mistake of assuming that will save you a second time." His hand tightened around the convulsing flesh in a last warning before allowing Diggory to fall to the floor. He walked out of the room and back to the elevator with easy strides. All that was left to do was corner his prey.

**(***Iridescent***)**

When Tom arrived at the late Potter's home, he didn't bother with picking the lock, instead choosing to simply kick the door off of its hinges. After shutting the door behind him, he stepped over the bodies of the two women within, careful not to get blood on his shoes. Snape immediately appeared in the next doorway, a gun in his hands.

"My, my. That's a rude welcoming." His voice had become the sweetest of venoms. Time had sharpened his anger into a focused rage that would only serve in his favor. And to decimate those who opposed him, but they were really the same thing. Obsidian orbs narrowed.

"…Riddle?" It had been a long time since they had last met, but Tom supposed he was a hard man to forget.

"I assumed you would be here as soon as I saw that Potter's identity had been revealed. So _predictable_." Snape glared at him, clearly unwilling to just believe the story but also knowing no other way Tom could have found him so quickly.

"What do you want?" Snape didn't shoot, but he didn't lower his weapon, either. Maybe he knew that Tom could get his weapon out and have him dead before being hit? Tom didn't personally care.

"Nothing special. I just want to make sure you don't fuck up his demise _again_ and somehow incriminate me." Tom was casual. He had everything exactly how he wanted it. Snape sneered but, unable to afford risking Tom's anger or drawing attention to the house before he was finished, lowered his weapon. A wolf's grin slipped through his—well, he could never exactly pass for a sheep, but whatever nice-ish mask he held. Snape's gaze became warier, but the only move he made was to turn and go back in the direction he came from. Tom followed him, but when Harry came into view, tied up in a dank basement, and Snape stepped into the open, Tom chose to stay in the shadows.

Neither man spoke while they waited. Snape because… Tom didn't care why he was silent. Tom because he was too busy taking in Harry's form. The younger male's chest was slowing raising up and down, which was the most important thing here. He didn't look any worse for wear, meaning Snape had only captured him thus far. Tom's worry vanished, but that only left more room for his rage.

Slowly, green eyes opened, confusion, fear, and irritation flashing quickly through his orbs. He opened his mouth slowly, as if to say something, but only ended up revealing cloth stuffed into his mouth. A Harry that couldn't speak? The idea was just as appealing as it was unappealing. Tom supposed he would only truly be able to appreciate it if he could control when those taunting lips opened and closed.

"I suppose you're curious as to why I've taken you. Though I don't know if I should tell you. You've been truly detestable in the way you've treated me these last few months." What an incredibly bitter man. "Not that I'm incredibly surprised, what with who your father is. Tell me, did you find it funny to hear me speaking of your father while I poured my heart out to you?" Snape reached out to Harry and pulled him up by his ropes, the other hand reaching into his mouth and removing the gag. Tom nearly snapped Snape's neck. He was _touching_ what belonged to _Tom_. "No matter. We have time to correct your less than desirable personality traits. Consider it something akin to detention." Snape allowed Harry to drop harshly to the floor.

Harry was _Tom's_ to correct.

"Fucking bastard! You won't get away with this!" Harry was correct on that point.

"Why not? I have before." Because Tom was his opponent this time, and no one escaped Tom.

"You're a damn psycho, you hear me? You killed my parents, and now you think that—" Snape interrupted Harry almost casually.

"Parent. You don't honestly think that I would ever lay a hand on Lily, do you?" Snape turned his eyes to meet Tom's. "No, that was my subordinate." Still so condescending, despite Tom's obvious advantage, "Although I can't completely blame him; he tried to spare her, but she absolutely refused to move out of the line of fire. _Insisted_ on protecting you." Snape's eyes turned back to Harry, anger burning in them, fists curling so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. "It was your fault, really." And then, in the midst of a situation where basically everything and everyone had turned against him, the boy did something so completely _Harry_ that Tom couldn't stop the fond crook of his lips. Harry huffed and rolled his eyes, no doubt succeeding in pissing Snape off even more.

"How is it my fault that you and your subordinate are insane?" Tom's first thought was that of Harry apologizing once he realized who he was speaking of, but reality got in the way of that pleasant begging session to let Tom know that Harry would say it to his face just as easily. "Where the bloody hell are we, anyway?" Snape stared down his nose at Harry, giving a disapproving 'tut' before looing around, and Tom idly wondered if Harry was trying to irritate his father's murderer.

"You don't recognize your first home?" Harry stilled at Snape's words, bringing attention to the fact that he had been (barely) moving in the first place, and Tom tilted his head to the side. What was Harry up to? "We're going to do it right this time, Harry. This is going to end where it began all those years ago." Green eyes moved back to meet Snape's.

"What are you waiting for?" The question was, much like everything Harry did, a challenge. An innocently curious challenge, as Harry probably only wanted to know, but his tone and general personality made it seem like he was daring Snape to try it. Tom chose that as his point to step in.

"Come now, Harry. You don't seriously think that royalty works alone, do you?" Snape would assume that Tom was referring to his status as the Half-Blood Prince, but Harry would get the true reference. And the way forest green eyes widened, torn somewhere between anger, confusion, and despair, made Tom's blood sing. Harry's body was taut with fighting through his fight-or-flight response, no doubt frustrated beyond belief at Tom's appearance. He counted Tom as his enemy now, whatever trust they had shattered, and while that made part of Tom want to snarl for Harry's stupidity, it made another part of him proud. Blind faith and unfailing trust in a person was stupidity, even if – especially if – the person was Tom. He could betray better than the best of them. There was no surety that he wouldn't turn on Harry one day. He wasn't in love with an idiot. A naïve dreamer, maybe, but not an idiot. It was better to be prepared than happy.

Not that Harry could have been prepared for this exact event. Truthfully, Tom hadn't thought over the day he had shot Harry's mother since his wound had healed. Now though, staring into those brilliant green eyes, Tom remembered. And finally, _finally_, he understood how Snape could have been so enthralled with Lily. Those eyes… rebellious, fierce, and unwilling to show how much bitterness and pain this (what Harry considered) betrayal had caused; were utterly captivating.

"Riddle." Harry's voice didn't crack, but it wavered, pain buried deep beneath the anger and shame. Severus glanced between them, and the humor that the two man who killed his parents were the ones vying for his attention didn't escape Tom's notice.

"You two know each other?" 'Outside of your initial meeting' went unsaid, and Tom easily ignored Snape's general existence. Harry held no such intentions.

"Apparently not." Tom's eyes never strayed from Harry, and he couldn't stop the dark smirk from taking his lips. Harry was still under the impression that he could estrange himself from Tom, one way or another. He didn't realize that not even death would stand in the way of Tom getting what he wanted. Harry, possibly in response to his expression, bean to struggle. His movements were harsh and hurried, and Tom watched panic war with a calculating need to survive. "You know, you'd think one of the first things to come up when you found out is the fact that you helped kill my parents." Tom paused at Harry's words, honestly considering them. He supposed it would have been the first thing to pop into most people's minds, but all Tom had been able to think was that the entire world was looking for Harry, and Harry belonged to _him_. The information had upped his possessiveness to a new level, but what had landed Harry in such a position in the first place hadn't mattered enough to spark neuronal movement. He had killed so many people, after all. What was one bullet when he was thirteen?

Tom gave Harry an unconcerned shrug.

"It slipped my mind." For the slightest moment, Harry paused in his struggles, and Tom knew that Harry hated that he was telling the truth.

"How, exactly, do you know each other?" Snape demanded the attention in the room. Tom denied him that. Harry, however, had an almost immediate change in demeanor. It lasted only a flicker of a moment, but Tom would recognize that determined hope anywhere. Harry experienced it nearly every time they fought, which was around ten to twelve times a day or more (usually more). The boy had a plan.

"We fucked." Tom narrowed his eyes at the way Harry had revealed what was between them. While there were points in time where what they had been doing could be called nothing more than fucking, Harry was far too sentimental to label it as nothing more than that. Even Tom would put a more expressive tag on what they had, and he consistently looked down upon romanticisms. That left the phrasing as a part of whatever scheme Harry had cooked up, but Tom couldn't quite figure out what he was aiming at. "Right after I left our date with you, actually." Ah. There it was. Snape was quick to anger, and the harsher his anger got, the more likely he was to slip up. Lightly, Tom wondered if Harry had figured out if Tom was on his side yet or if this was just a last-ditch plan with hopes that Tom wouldn't interfere.

"You're his lover?" Snape's words were quiet and filled with betrayed rage, immediately adding a dose of challenge to Tom's already arrogant posture. Before Snape could turn that rage on Tom, Harry spoke again.

"Lover is an intense word." The words were meant to be casually scathing, and perhaps they sounded like that to Snape, but Tom saw the nearly nonexistent pause between Harry's mouth opening and him actually speaking, and he heard the slightest waver on the word 'lover.' It may as well have been another of their arguments, and Tom equated the words with 'I love you.' "We were just friends with benefits. Not even friends, really. And the benefits weren't all that great, either, but hey. When your only other suitor is a chemistry professor, you do what you have to." Tom immediately thought of just how many _benefits_ Harry had reaped from their relationship and was quickly forced to school his expression back into neutrality.

Harry scooted backwards, and Snape took steps to follow his motions, knife glinting against the dim lights. Tom immediately moved forwards as well, his fingers wrapping tightly around Snape's (frankly scrawny) wrist and stopping the idiot from marking what belonged to Tom. If he was holding on a _small_ bit tighter than necessary, Snape didn't show it. If he was Harry, he may have gotten points for that. As is, it only served to sharpen Tom's malicious intent.

"You may get the satisfaction of choosing when he dies," _lies_; that right belonged only to Tom, "but I'm the only one who will mark him." Tom's voice was firm and dangerous, daring Snape to see just who held the power in this arrangement. Snape, after a moment, made one of his few truly smart decisions and released his hold on the weapon, allowing Tom to move his grip from Snape's wrist to the handle of the knife. He twirled it idly in his fingers as he turned back to face Harry, whose eyes darkened considerably. So, he really was hoping to scape by on the luck of not facing Tom until Snape was out of the way. How cute.

Tom strode closer, taking in his prey. They really _would_ have to try bondage sometime.

Once Tom was within reach, Harry maneuvered so that one of his legs was free (losing his shoe in the process) and so that he was standing against the wall. Without a moment's pause, he kicked a foot out, and while Tom's first instinct was to stop the blow and second instinct was to hit move the knife so that the idiot wouldn't do Snape's job for him and hurt himself, Tom forced his body still to allow Harry his escape. The knife flew out of Tom's grasp, leaving a splash of blood across Tom's hand in its place. The force of his kick spun him into a second kick that was strong enough to cause pain to bloom in Tom's chest but never would have been enough to trip him up. Tom took two steps backwards anyhow, enjoying the triumphant grin that spread across delicious lips in response. Harry made a run for the exit almost simultaneously with his foot returning to the ground, but Tom didn't allow him to get far. Surely Harry wasn't stupid enough to think Tom would actually let him escape.

Tom grasped the ropes that tied Harry's torso and tossed the younger man over to where the knife had been thrown earlier. He loved that Harry was nowhere near as light as he looked. Harry's posture changed as soon as he realized (to some extent, at least) what was going on, but Tom didn't get to look for long as Snape stepped between them, expression molded into a scowl.

"I was kind enough to allow you to see the end of what you helped start all those years ago, but I won't allow you to ruin all of my hard work." Snape looked at Tom from foot to head as though he was nothing more than filth before turning around to face Harry instead. "You're still the same sloppy, impulsive child as before." The fury that had been contained and sharpened into a fine weapon before lost its form, soaking into every molecule of his being. He moved on instinct, taking the closest non-immediately lethal weapon at hand (his tie) and quickly wrapping it around Snape's throat, loving the feeling of the body struggling for breath against him as he pulled upwards. Loving the feel of Snape's life draining away and the power to save him belong solely to Tom. Not that he had any urge to spare his miserable existence. Snape would pay dearly for touching Harry.

"I was never sloppy." No, everything had always been planned carefully out. He couldn't afford any mistakes in his ride to power. Nails moved from the cloth constricting Snape's airways to trying to hit Tom, and the mob boss felt his excitement spike as the blows landed, knowing that this was the peak of the struggle. The pain served as a reminder that he was both alive and on top. Just as so many times before, the blows lessened, and the ones that did hit were weaker; pathetic. Snape's life could end in the next few seconds, and all would be righted.

His grip on the tie loosened to nothing without warning, swinging the material to tie back to its rightful place around his own neck. "Your place has always been at my feet, Severus. Don't forget that." Yes, he wanted to stain his hands with more blood, but, at least for this moment, Harry's needs came before his own, and Harry would need closure. For the first time, the older man was willing to hand his prey over to someone else. Was there any greater way to express his love?

Tom thought not.

Snape looked pitiful, bowing and panting at his feet, but Tom barely paid him heed. By this point, he was nothing more than an eyesore, leaving Tom's fingers nearly twitching to finish the job. Snape got to his feet, all irritation at Tom redirected towards Harry, who scrambled to his feet. And then the green eyed boy captured Tom's full attention by squaring his shoulders and becoming every bit the man that had shot Bellatrix. He stood tall, determined to let nothing get to him, looking almost as though he was the one keeping them hostage and that they were just wasting his time. He looked strong and fierce and invincible and beautiful and—

"Looks like there's a reason he's a Lord and you're a Prince. I thought you were prouder than that, _Snivellus_."

And he almost literally took Tom's breath away.

"A Lord? Is that one of your sick fantasies? To be dominated?" Snape pulled a gun from his waistband. "Because I can do that." And then he pulled the trigger, and millions of scenarios, both of Harry's death and how many different ways he could slaughter Snape, ran through Tom's mind. Harry appeared to be one step ahead, however, as he dove into a roll. It started out perfectly before hitching, and Tom knew that his lover had been hit, but Harry didn't appear to care as he broke free and used the knife to mangle Snape's shooting hand. The gun fell to the floor as Harry moved to punch Snape across the face, forcing the professor to stumble backwards until he hit the wall. Harry maneuvered the knife so that the tip of the blade was pressed against Snape's abdomen, and Tom watched eagerly, wanting so badly for his plan to finish smoothly. Then Harry hesitated.

And Tom gave him the extra shove he needed to complete his vengeance. He pressed himself against Harry's back and wrapped his hands around Harry's own. Snape's eyes moved upwards, relief clear even in Tom's peripheral vision, but all Tom could see was the beautiful young man in his arms. And then he propelled the knife forward, feeling how easily it sliced through Snape's soft, fleshy body, unable to hold back a throaty groan at the knowledge that everything had gone his way. Harry tensed, but Tom's only response was to draw the knife in Harry's hand back and slammed it forward again. Snape coughed, blood splattering onto Tom's arms, and Tom went for the vital organs next, ignoring Harry's horrified struggles and Snape's weak grip on his wrists. Harry was flipped and pinned against the wall before Snape's convulsing body could hit the ground.

Harry glared at Tom, fear hiding somewhere beneath the bravery but refusing to show itself, and Tom knew that if he ended Harry's life here and now, the last thing he would see flash through emerald orbs would be that gorgeous defiance. Tom slammed their lips together, unwilling to stop until he had drawn blood from those perfect lips and delved into the most taunting mouth in the world.

Only when Harry's struggles became nothing (not for lack of resistance but lack of air) did Tom pull back.

"I love you." He loved Harry. Truly.

"You're a fucking psycho!" A grin tipped the edges of Tom's lips at the accusation, and this time he kissed Harry until the boy passed out.

**(***Iridescent***)**

Harry paced around the room as Tom sat in a familiar position between the exit and the rest of the house, casually looking over a book as he waited for his lover to calm down.

"And we are _not_ dating, you hear me? You killed my parents—" Tom interrupted Harry's rant as he flipped the page of his book.

"Parent." He had only killed Lily.

"_Whatever_. You helped kill my parents," fair enough, "lied to me," of course, "kept the fact that my _chemistry professor_ was your partner to yourself," it hadn't seemed relevant, "sold Draco to Zabini-" Tom cut him off there.

"He sold you out. Besides, Zabini will treat him well. If it wasn't for you, I'd have killed him." But Harry just steamrolled on.

"-and a whole list of other things that I'm positive you aren't telling me! Why the fuck would you think that I would want to have any sort of relations with you at all?" He was especially forceful today, which was a definite turn-on.

"We don't have to jump back into being a couple;" though they _would_ continue to be exclusive, "I'm fine with just being sex friends for now." Tom watched Harry from beneath his lashes as he spoke. Harry's chest moved up and down almost roughly, body in a defensive position as he prepared to fight back should Tom try and attack. A cornered animal in nearly every sense of the phrase.

Cute.

"I'm moving out." As though Tom would allow something so ridiculous. "Move." Tom tilted his head up to fully focus on Harry at the harsh snarl of a word, marking his place in his book and setting it to the side before rising from his chair.

"You know I can't resist you when you use that tone." Harry opened his mouth to shout something else, but Tom was quicker, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and pulling the other male close. Enjoying how tense Harry got and how much strength he had to put into restraining Harry fully. "Besides, you aren't actually angry about that." Green eyes looked at him in disbelief. "You knew who I was when you fell in love with me. You know that we weren't connected when your parents died, and you aren't petty enough to hold a grudge when it was really nothing personal." Harry didn't back down, but there was something in his eyes that said Tom was right. His body lost its tenseness as he reached some sort of agreement with his conscious, and Tom loosened his hold. Harry would get over this. And if not, he still had the Dursley's life-sentence up his sleeve. "I'll allow this break-up to occur, but you won't leave me. Not now." He leaned down to kiss Harry's neck. "Not ever."

Harry proceeded to punch him in the gut hard enough that Tom actually lost his breath.

"Then watch me use up your resources from the other side of the house because even if I can't escape you," Harry's voice was low and threatening in Tom's ear, "I _won't_ be getting back together with you." And then he stormed off. _Back to his room_.

Tom chuckled as he caught his breath, slowly moving back to his chair and using the pain in his stomach as a reminder that Harry was alive and that he had won. He heard the door reopen and Harry shout, "And I sure as hell won't ever sleep with you again, either!" before it slammed closed once more. A self-satisfied smile tipped Tom's lips that, in a certain light, may have looked loving.

He had heard that one before.


End file.
